I'm a Loser
by CrazyCatie
Summary: Really, it's not that complicated.  She's the girl that loves everyone, except for one person, and he's the guy that hates everyone, except for one person.
1. I hate you

**AN: I wonder, are you tired of me yet? So, I realize that me and Sparks Diamond are right in the middle of writing this long, complicated story that has little happy, witty moments and is mostly composed of deep feeling. I totally know that. But here's the thing: I sorta wanted to do something a little different than I usually do. It's not long at all, so just…er…read…I guess.**

"I hate you."

"I hate you, too."

"I hope you fall down a well and die."

"I hope a giraffe bites your head off."

I cringe. What a little bitch. "No one loves you."

John Lennon shrugs his broad shoulders. "That fits, 'cause I don't love anyone."

This exasperates me. Seriously? REALLY? Does he have to be like this all the time? "Hahahahahahahaha I hate you."

John smiles. But it's not REALLY a smile, more like a sneer and a little eyebrow raise. Because like usual, he thinks he's hot shit. "I hate you, too, don't worry about it."

"I wasn't."

"Nice comeback."

"Nice face."

"It is, isn't it? Dead sexy, I think."

I narrow my eyes. I swear to God, if I have to talk to this man ONE MORE TIME, I'm going to spontaneously combust.

"You're such a loser."

….

She smiles, but not at me.

She laughs, sweet as could be.

Black curls, spiraling down.

Green eyes, like gems on a crown.

Beautiful, skin as white as snow.

I love her, will she ever know?

**AN: Short and sweet, huh? That was actually the point; just something short. I don't actually have a story plan, all I know is that it's gonna have something to do with John (as most of my stories don't) and it's gonna be WAY shorter than my other stories. So tell me what you think! REVIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!**


	2. Caraaaaaa isssss angryyyyyy

**AN: I can't help it. I wanted to update already. SO SUE ME! Sighh…you people give me headaches. Just read the damn story, thanks.**

I'm friends with John Lennon's 'girlfriend', so him and his little friend with the weird eyes sit at my table. They both annoy the fuck out of me.

"Caraaaaaaaaaaaa…" someone hisses, and a balled up napkin hits me in the head. I keep my gaze focused on the girl I'm having a conversation with, however, and ignore him.

"CARAAAAAAAAA…" the voice says, this time a bit louder. The balled up paper napkin hits me in the forehead again. I grit my teeth and angle my body away from the end of the table, trying to focus on what I was saying.

"CARA!"

I swallow roughly, my anger mounting. "Like I was saying," I choke out, still regarding my friend. "If Tait REALLY didn't like you, you would have failed. And I'm telling you; a B- is NOT failing in the least bit. In fact, I—"

"CARAAAAAAAA!" Two consecutive paper napkin balls, one to the left eye, the other to my chin.

"WHAT? WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT THAT COULDN'T WAIT FIVE SECONDS FOR ME TO END THE FUCKING CONVERSATION I WAS ALREADY HAVING?"

John stares at me, his expression blank. Next to him, Big Eyes is having a giggle attack.

"I just wanted to say," John begins slowly, measuring out each word carefully, as though he's going to tell me some life-changing news, "hi."

My eyes are burning with icy hatred, my hands shaking with the force of my want to reach out and give him a good smack.

"You," I hiss, "are the most annoying, obnoxious, insufferable human being on the face of the planet!" Around us, our mutual friends are silent. The Cara/John Battles are weekly events, going back all the way to Kindergarten.

He gives me a bashful look, swatting me away with his palm girlishly. "Aww, stop it. You're making me blush!"

Our friends begin to titter and chuckle among themselves, and when I do nothing but glare back at him, they return to their conversations. John looks at me, and for a moment we lock eyes. I am unable to look away, and I hope all the nasty feelings I have toward him are transmitted between us. Maybe they are, because he breaks the connection, looking down at his plate of French fries with that usual blank stare.

"What a loser," I mutter under my breath.

…

Violets are Blue

Roses are Red

I love you so

But you want me dead

**AN: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Wow…so…I have nothing to say. This is legendary. Seriously, you guys should probably like…I dunno…celebrate in some way. Break a campaign bottle on a boat or something. Wait…what's that even for? I saw it in Shrek or something. Off topic, I know, I know. What I MEANT to say was this: REVIEWWWWWWWWWWW, BITCHES! **


	3. Flashback I

**AN: THINGS I LOVE: When people make inferences on my character without knowing me. When they don't understand that only the best people in the world are referred to as 'bitches' (EX: Oprahhhh! You my bitch, girl!) When people judge my characters not even three chapters in. You people just make my day, I'm tellin' ya. I live for you.**

FLASHBACK (10 YEARS PREVIOUS):

I hardly got up that morning. I literally had to drag myself out of bed, and even when I was getting ready, I couldn't bear to face myself in the mirror. My house was quiet (for the first time in known history) and I knew that I was the only one bothering to even go through the daily function (i.e. school) this morning.

Needless to say, I was a wreck.

I walked to school with my head down, my hair falling in limp scraggles around my face. There were heavy purple bags underneath my eyes, and my skin was a nasty, pallid white. I sat down in my seat once I got to school, and I didn't look at anybody or chirp any greetings.

"'Ello, Cara," a voice said to me. I picked my head up warily, feeling like I was about to burst into tears at any second.

It was John Lennon.

He was the class clown, and my mother always said he was heading nowhere and nowhere fast. I never had anything against him, so I always shushed her. He was particularly keen on insulting people and making fun of them for other's (and his own) enjoyment, but I had never been the object of his teasing.

"Hi," I responded, my voice a dull monotone.

He raised an eyebrow, chucking as well as a ten year old could. "What's wrong with you?"

I didn't answer him. His question tugged at my heart, and my throat began to ache.

"Who died?" he quipped. Why wouldn't he just leave me alone?

More children began to enter the classroom, and I took this as a blessing. Maybe he would find someone ELSE to ridicule.

But, I was never a lucky person.

"Hey, guys!" he called, motioning his buddies over. "Look at Cara! What a mess!"

Some of our classmates tittered, and suddenly I knew that was going to happen. I had seen this a million times in the past, and I had always been one of the laughing classmates. I tried to tuck myself into an insignificant ball, but John kept at it.

"Cara, sweetie, maybe I shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but I someone should; you need a tan. And you need to brush that hair. That's just gross."

I cringed, wrapping my arms around myself and trying as hard as I could not to cry. This day couldn't possibly get any worse, could it?

"Hey! Liam! Look at Cara!" My stomach tightened suddenly. Oh, please God! Not Liam! "Don't you agree," John pushed on, "that it looks like our friend here could use some of that makeup that sister of hers is always wearing? I mean, look at those bags!"

The class started laughing, and some even pointed at me. Not one of them defended me. It was better that it was me, not them, that was tortured that day.

"Please, John," I whispered, because if my voice gets any louder, I know that tears will follow. "Please just leave me alone."

He stared at me for a second, his little brown eyes completely blank. He looked unsure of something. Then he adapted a sneer, and mimicked my voice over-dramatically. "Pleeeeeease, John? Pleeeease just leave me alonnnnne!" he whined.

The class erupted in laughter, and a single tear trickled down my face. I turned away from John, putting my head in my hands and trying to breath evenly. The teacher walked in, and at once a hush fell on the class.

After school that day, I went home, put on the dress my mother had laid out for me, and brushed my hair. I snuck into my older sister Shannon's room, and pulled out her makeup. I took out a light beige colored tube, globbed some of the stuff under my eyes, and started to rub. My face looked splotchy and even whiter than before. I gave up.

Then I got into the car, my brothers and sisters all giving me weird looks. I looked even nastier than I did at school today.

"What happened to your _face_?" Shannon asked, a deep frown set in. I didn't answer. By then, I couldn't.

The car was silent as we drove, and when we pulled up to the place and got showered with hugs, I did my best not to look anyone in the eye. We make our way up to the front of the main room, and my hands are shaking. I knelt down, and looked into my brother's whitened face.

In life, he was vibrant, always the happy one. He was a year older than me, and he always defended my honor and such. My vision began to blur, and before I knew it, my tears were flowing freely onto his crisp linen shirt.

There are some days you never forget all your life. And there are some people you never forgive, either.

….

I'm sorry that I hurt you,

That I made you cry.

I'm sorry that I didn't know,

You had to say goodbye.

**AN: This was a little bit longer than I would have liked…but it shows you what, exactly, Cara has against John. Sure, it isn't much. But it's something. And, NO, this isn't the only thing. There will be more flashbacks sporadically. Listen, guys. I don't wanna make this long, not at all. I just want it to be short and simple and sweet. So, that's it. Or was that too bitchy for you? **


	4. Partners, huh?

**AN: So, it's a Monday morning, and I'm updating. Hmmm… Haha, actually I'm sick. Seriously, seriously sick. I might not make it through the night. (Totally kidding.) I'm sitting here watching One Tree Hill reruns in my pjs and glasses, and I just start thinking of some badass things John would say. Random, right? Anyways, I just got into the mood to update. WHOA! BROOKE IS HALF-NAKED IN THE BACKSEAT OF LUCAS'S CAR! Not a surprise, I've seen this episode like four times. Hit me up if you completely worship One Tree Hill, too?**

I walked into my last period class, dreading it as usual. It was only the third week of school, and already I hated this class. However, it was a graduation requirement that the students take at least ONE Fine Arts class, and I had the bad luck of being dumped into Painting and Drawing.

REASONS I HATE PAINTING AND DRAWING:

I have absolutely no artistic talent.

The teacher HATES students that don't have a natural artistic knack. He's a dick.

John Lennon is in this class.

I honestly thought I was DONE with him. Ever since he and my friend Natalie split, he and his big-eyed friend haven't been sitting at my table (thank the Lord). I don't talk to him in this class; I sit in the back and keep my head down, afraid of being called on for the most humane form of torture this school could come up with: Public Draw.

"So, as you all know," Mr. Bartelson announces, "your end of the year project is a partner activity. I'll be giving you your partners. So don't. Even. Think. About it, Miss Pewter and Mister Lennon." John removes his hand from Carolyn Pewter's knee, and she giggles and blushes.

"I have the partners written down on this paper right here," he continues, indicating a sheet of paper taped to the board. "After class, you may come and see who you have been paired up with. No sooner."

Please, I beg God silently, do NOT let me be with HIM. I repeat this again and again as the class wears on, and by the time the bell rings, I shoot out of my seat, convinced that I'm going to be with him. I run my finger down the list, waiting for my name. There it is.

CARA FALLON-BIANCA HORSHE

I breathe out a sigh of relief. Bianca Horshe is a pretty girl, kinda, warm brown eyes and long, wavy blonde hair. She looks over at me, having read my name first, and smiles.

"MR. BARTELSON!" someone shouts above the noise of passing period. I cringe at the voice. I know its owner well. "WE HAVE A PROBLEM."

I spin around to see John standing in the doorway, Liam Marrison standing next to him and looking grumpy. "There is NO WAY in hell that I am being partners with _him_."

Mr. Bartelson sighs, then looks at me and Bianca. He's only letting John change partners because for some odd, twisted reason, he loves him. "Ladies, would you mind switching?"

Wow. I can't even believe my luck. I get to be with fucking Liam Marrison, the boy I've had a crush since, I don't know, SECOND GRADE. I smiled widely. "Of course not, sir."

"Great. Mr. Lennon, Miss Fallon, partners. Mr. Marrison, Miss Horshe, also partners." My face falls. No. No, no, no. THIS IS NOT HAPPENING.

John smiles. "Lovely." He turns to me, mischief twinkling in his eyes. "We're gonna have so much fun, huh, partner?"

My eyes widen, and I bite down all my nasty, snarky comments because the a teacher is present. "You're SUCH a loser."

…

Accidents,

Are almost always on purpose.

Coincidences,

Do not exist.

My determination,

Always persists.

**AN: So, what do you fine people think of THAT, hmm? You could tell me in, oh, I don't know…a review, perhaps?**


	5. True love?

**AN: Hey, guys. HOW MANY OF YOU ARE LOVING THIS FALL WEATHER? It was seventy-two degrees during the day yesterday, and fifty-something at night. B-e-a-utiful. So, just sorta felt like adding this. I mean, it's not the best, seeing as I wrote it in less than fifteen minutes. But, you know. Gave me something to do before I…GO TO THE HAWKS GAME TONIGHT! :^) That's George. He's my buddy.**

"So when are we working on this project?"

I face forward, chewing my sandwich with slow, rhythmic bites. I don't talk to him. Hell, I don't even look at him. I just pray that he'll leave me alone.

"I heard Liam and Bianca already started." I can FEEL the smirk in his voice. It's blaring at me. Now he's got me. I HAVE to react to this.

I turn slowly, giving him the worst Death Stare I can possibly manage. I don't know HOW he knows about my intense love for Liam Marrison, but ever since we were little kids, he hasn't let it rest. "Just shut up, John."

"But Cara," he says, leaning forward on his elbows, "don't you think it's good to have a grip on what other people are doing? I mean, I hear Bianca goes over to Liam's house every day after school. They're getting really friendly, I guess."

I would never let John know this, but he's snapping my heart in half. Even though he's probably making half this stuff up, I keep imagining that it's true. That Liam is going to look over at me, and he's going to laugh at me just like that day so many years ago…

"Please, just stop," I hiss, looking away from John and trying to play off my burning cheeks. I take a sip of my chocolate milk, scared of what he's going to say next.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but Bianca and Liam have something special. We can't fight it any more than they can." He bites his lip, as though having to tell me this is despairing him in way I can't even imagine. He reaches forward, puts a finger underneath my chin, and swivels my head so that I'm facing the table where Liam sits. Bianca is sitting across from him, a long piece of paper spread out before them. She looks up, laughing cutely at something he said. He looks back at her, a wide grin spread on his face. "See?"

I stare at Bianca, the girl that was supposed to be MY partner, and Liam, who I WANTED to be my partner. Instead, I got stuck with the boy sitting next to me, antagonizing me almost to tears. Around us, my friends chatter on, unconcerned with the way John is treating me. It's nothing worse than normal.

I yank my face away from the sickening scene, my eyes focused down on my half eaten sandwich. I'm trying really, really hard not to cry. Isn't it enough that Liam doesn't even know I exist? Does John REALLY have to rub salt in the wounds like this?

"It's pretty lucky Marrison hates my guts, otherwise true love might have never found its way."

This just pushes me off the edge. I stand up quickly, my chair squealing loudly against the flooring of the cafeteria. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" I say shrilly, tears running down my face. I'm half aware of the fact that people are watching us, but right now? I couldn't give two shits.

I cover my face, rushing towards the exit. My one thought is 'Please, don't let Liam see this'.

"Cara!" John calls from behind me. "I'm sorry!"

But I was already gone.

…..

What else can I do?

To try and make you see?

You don't look at much,

When it comes to me.

**AN: So, yes, I realize that Cara's not exactly the type of person most would want to be. She can be mean and very insecure…but think about this. How many people do you know that AREN'T mean sometimes, and who AREN'T insecure. Me? I can be SUCH a bitch. And insecure? HELL YES! So, with that, REVIEW!**


	6. LIAM FREAKING MARRISON!

**AN: I WISH IT WAS THE WEEKEND! I have a fucking three day weekend coming up, and it just HAS to be Wednesday right now, instead of Friday. Ugh. Sometimes, life REALLY sucks. Agreed?**

I walk through the halls, my head down, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. After the scandalous running-out-of-the-cafeteria episode last week, I don't want ANY other embarrassing spectacles taking place in public. It's not very hard to avoid people in high school, the trouble is avoiding people AND being somewhat social at the same time. If you don't do that, then people start to think you're a weirdo instead of just a little bit shy.

As I'm walking, I manage to steer off course—because I am for some reason physically unable to walk in a straight line—and kick someone who is sitting on the ground against the row of lockers. My foot connects with his shin, making him yelp out in pain. Flustered, I immediately kneel to the ground to see if he's alright.

Once I get to the ground and am at eye level, I realize exactly who I kicked. I freeze.

Liam Marrison looks up at me, his bright blue eyes wide and his full lips pursed. "Ouch," he says softly, as thought to remind me that I'm kneeling next to him, staring blatantly at his beautiful face.

"Oh, my gosh! I am SO sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going, and I—"

"It's okay," he replies, cutting me off. "Relax. There's only gonna be a LITTLE bruise." I can't tell if this is a joke or not, so I open my mouth and half smile.

"Uh…well…" I'm struggling to find something to say, because I wanna look witty and cute and cool in front of this boy I have barely ever talked to, yet find myself hopelessly in love with. Instead of looking witty and cute and cool, I seem to be coming off as stupid and shy and weird. Which is NOT what I want.

"Your name is Cara, right?" Liam asks abruptly, holding up a hand as though to silence me.

For the first time, I doubt myself. Cara IS my name, right? I mean, if I say Cara, will it totally humiliate me when he yells 'NO IT'S BERTHA!' right back in my face? No, I'm almost 95% sure that I'm Cara. Okay, here goes nothing. "Yes…?"

Liam nods sharply, his eyes returning to their usual size and his lips relaxing. "Right. The girl from my art class. The crier."

I stare at him, open mouthed. "The…the what?"

"The crier," he repeats, completely deadpan. "The girl that ran out of the lunch room crying the other day. Hilarious. John Lennon's doing, no doubt."

Okay…why is he talking about me like I'm not even here? "Um…I didn't think it was so funny. Actually, I thought it was rather horrible."

"Ah, yes, well. You WOULD think that." He starts to chuckle, as though he's just the most clever little guy in the universe. I'm so transfixed with the way his glorious lips move when he laughs, that I start to smile, too. Even though I should smack him and walk away.

"That's it," he says, a grin popping onto his face. "I knew you'd be a good sport about it in the end."

"You don't even KNOW me," I can't help but blurt out, even though I know him. GOD do I know him.

"That's not true. I've known you since…er…grade six?" FIRST grade, I correct him mentally. But I let him keep talking to me, because seriously? This is a momentous occasion. Liam Freaking Marrison is talking to me. And he's laughing. Who cares if he's laughing AT me, he's still laughing! "And now you're in my Drawing and Painting class."

"Fine, then. Maybe you do."

"I do. You know what ELSE I know?"

I sigh over dramatically. "No, Liam, I don't know."

"I know that you'd be open this Friday night. To maybe…go out with me?"

My heart stops. Then it goes again, but the steady rhythm is all off. WHAT? LIAM? ME? DATE? NO FUCKING WAY! What the hell gave him THIS idea? Me kicking him in the shin?

"Er…y-yeah. Yeah! That'd be gr-great!" I swallow and duck my head, trying to hide my all-consuming blush. But Liam must have seen it, because he starts to chuckle again.

"Ah, you're kinda cute. For a nerd, that is." And with that, he gets up and walks away. There's no goodbye, no see you later. Not even a call me. Just…gone.

I look up, wanting to find one of my friends to share this triumph with. But the hall is deserted, as everyone is supposed to be in class. I stand up and whirl around, feeling like dancing. But then I look back, and three lockers away there IS someone. He's got his head inclined towards me, but a notebook resting on his knees and a pen poised on the paper. His eyes are wide and his stare is blank.

"John?"

At once, he snaps out of it, jumping up and forcing his notebook and pen into his bag. He picks it up and slings it over his shoulder, then glances at me. His mouth is wide open, like he's about to say something, and I even catch a little intake of breath. But then the bell rings, and students start pouring into the hall. Even as I stand rooted on the spot, John gets swallowed into the oncoming sea of kids.

When the hallway is empty once more, he's gone. What a loser.

…..

More than words can speak,

More than notes can play,

More than shy are meek,

And more than I can say.

I lo

**AN: Yeah, that up there? Right above this line? That was on purpose, I didn't forget to finish the poem. And that's all I have to say about that. :^)**

**Oh, btw, what do you think of Mr. Liam Marrison, eh? Quite the character, huh? You could possibly tell me in a…I dunno…REVIEW?**

**(ps…chapters will never get longer than this)**


	7. Weekend plans

**AN: So, I think the best part of this story is how quickly I can update, because the chapters are so dang short and easy to write. I really love this story (even though I don't really love ALL the characters) and I'm just lucky that you guys put up with me trashing John sometimes. I promise you, in THIS particular story, that won't last much longer. Just sayin'. And also…shit, I wanted to say something, but I forgot. Dammit! I HATE when that happens! Oh, whatever. Here's the chapter:**

"We really should get to work on the project, Cara," John says, sidling up to me in the lunch line. I stare back him, totally amazed that just yesterday he was in total random freak out mode, and right now he was talking to me like nothing happened.

Should I bring it up? Normally I would just go for it, but I think it might be a bitchy move. He was obviously writing something, and I OBVIOUSLY bothered him. Or something. Shit, I don't even know.

"Yeah, sure," I answer, walking back to our table, tray in hand. Melanie, my friend who once dated John, glances up as John approaches the table with me. She casts him a look of pure death, but he hardly even flinches at it. It's more than obvious who broke up with whom.

"How about…Friday?"

I look at him, REALLY look at him. He appears earnest. Maybe he doesn't know? Maybe he honestly didn't hear what was being said, and he was just upset because we had interrupted his John Time or something. Or maybe he was just in one of his moods, and anything could have set him off.

But still…that LOOK he gave me. What the fuck was THAT all about?

I don't really have time to dwell on an answer, because he is tapping his foot impatiently. Please. What does HE have to do that's really all that important? Go and eat lunch with his big-eyed boyfriend?

"Er…I kinda have plans for Friday already, sorry." I watch his expression carefully, but he shows no sign of…what emotion am I expecting? Disappointment? Curiosity? Betrayal? The options all seem perfectly illogical to me, because why the hell would John Lennon care who I, Cara Fallon, went out with on a Friday night? He's probably got a line winding down the street of girls he's gonna shag.

He replies in a smooth voice, perfectly normal for him. His expression is blank, clear, void of any emotion whatsoever. "Sunday, then."

"Why not Saturday?"

"Because I'm fucking Ashley McDonald that night. I don't think you wanna be there for that."

"You think correctly. See ya on Sunday, Johnny Boy."

….

Lies,

Will be my demise.

All that backfire,

Because I'm a fucking liar.

**AN: WOW that poem sucked. Haha I was never really gifted at poetry anyways though, so whatever. What'd you guys think about this? You might possibly be able to tell me in a…review, perhaps?**


	8. Literal Hearts

**AN: So…hi there. I'm sick again. Which, in all fairness, is TOTALLY not my fault. It's the fault of that mother effaa that sneezed on me when I was swimming in gym. Now the whole pool's probably infected. This chapter goes out to you, mystery junior who felt perfectly at liberty to spread your mucus around my entire freshman class. Here's to you, asshole.**

Friday was…nice. Liam took me to dinner and the movies, and he even walked me to my door and gave me a little kiss on the cheek. He told me that he had a nice time, and I agreed, and then for a second he just gazed into my eyes with this almost…admiring, I guess, look. It sounds like a perfect evening. The cutest boy in school (in my opinion), the perfect backdrop, the perfect date. It was fairy tale, really.

The problem was this: Liam smelled like bananas.

So, maybe he just ate one before he picked me up. Whatever. I mean, I like bananas, I really do. They're actually one of my favorite fruits. But the thing is…the scent isn't exactly manly. Or attractive, really. Every time he moved, a gush of the smell would hit me, and by the end of the evening, it made he want to throw up. Even in his CAR there was this lingering scent that for a while, and I just couldn't put my finger on it. Bananas. What. The. Fuck?

The Banana King called me on Saturday, asking if I had any plans for Sunday. He said he wanted to take me down to the park for a little picnic.

When I told him I already had plans, I wondered if he had planned to bring bananas.

…

"I'm not really the best artist," I admit to John, who is sitting on my front porch, bent over a sheet of paper. He is designing something or other, his hand moving fluidly over the smooth white paper before him.

"So?"

"SO what the hell am I supposed to contribute to our Senior Project if I can't even draw?" I am beginning to get a little frustrated with John and his one word answers. Ever since he had arrived this morning, he has been giving me the cold shoulder. It's sort of like a reverse of what usually went on.

"Dunno," he mutters, smearing the pencil purposefully with his thumb, creating a more dimensional look. I had to admit it; he was good.

"What the FUCK is wrong with you? Normally I can't get you to shut up." I cross my arms over my chest, leaning back into the chair I was sitting in and soaking up some of the sun that was slanting down through the cracks in the porch's roof.

He looks up suddenly, dropping his pencil. "How was your date on Friday night?" he asks, as though this isn't a deeply personal question and he had every right to know about the details of what me and Liam did together.

I narrow my eyes. "Simply wonderful. How did you know about it?"

John rolls HIS eyes. "Everyone knows everything; it's high school."

In spite of myself, I giggle a little bit. How true. John returns to his drawing, his brow furrows in concentration.

"How did you stand to be around him, I wonder," he thought aloud, still facing the paper. "With that SMELL."

"The bananas?" I clarify. Duh, of COURSE he's talking about the bananas. It's not exactly hard to notice it, what with his relentless moving around.

"The guy smells like he just got out of the fucking tropical rainforest. I suspect he's more monkey than man."

I snort at this, even though I SHOULD be defending Liam's honor. I make a small attempt. "He doesn't LOOK like a monkey."

"And everything in life is about looks, right?" John inquires, looking up from his artwork. His eyes are imploring, as though he's really asking me, even though it's pretty obvious that he's not.

"Not everything," I manage to say, because what else am I supposed to say?

"I suppose the rest of it is about money to you, yeah?" He stands up, his expression blank as the sky, and leaps down the steps, two at a time. "That's done," he calls back, and I assume he's talking about the picture.

I watch him saunter off through the yards of my neighbors, crushing their well-nurtured roses with the casual stomp of his step. I stifle another laugh. Sometimes John is just too much.

Finally, I pry my eyes away from his retreating form, and look down at the piece of paper he left behind. On it was a large, shaded heart. Not the traditional kind, which decorated Valentine's Day cards and love letters, but a real, pulled out of your chest, heart. There was a miniature puncture wound in the lower left corner of the organ, and blood poured out of the spot. A broken heart.

…..

Sometimes it doesn't,

But others it hurts.

Then I have to remind myself,

I'm to blame for the worst.

**AN: Why does this chapter seem so long to me? It's funny, because I planned to have more, and then I looked at my page count and I was like WHAT THE FUCKKK? Sometimes words sort of…run away with me, you could say. Take right now for instance. I really have nothing to say, yet I am rambling on and on and people probably aren't even reading this. So, for those of you that are for some reason still with me, I bid you adieu, and please review.**

**(No, that rhyme wasn't on purpose…but that just makes it all the more awesome.) **


	9. Kissy, kissy

**AN: SO HEY GUYS! This is just a quick little update, because I'm currently waiting for my friend to pick me up to go to her lake house for the weekend! I know that I'm still a little bit sick, but who gives a fuck? You only have one life, you best live if.**

**Also, Wribbet? Girl, you know that I love you, but say that one more time and I'll kill you.**

I walk down the hall next to Liam, loving the way all the girls that blurred past shot me death stares. They hate me, which is great. I've always wanted to be the girl that everyone envied because of the boy on her arm. And now here I was.

Liam's fingers brush against mine, and I grip his hand. He looks down and smils, his blue eyes radiating adoration. I have learned to breathe out of my mouth when I was with Liam, so I won't have to smell that bananas. It was just a little thing, no big deal, and it was all worth it.

I hardly even notice when we pass a couple, latched on to each other by their mouths, leaning against the lockers and creating quite a ruckus. Liam sighs heavily through his nostrils as we pass, shaking his head slowly. This makes me double take, craning my neck to see who exactly the perpetrators were.

Of course, I should have known.

"Hey, Liam, would you mind waiting her for a second? I have to ask John something." I look up at him, expecting him to grin and nod casually. Instead he gives me a withering look and merely shrugs, focusing on something over my shoulder. Wow. The Banana King sure is touchy today, huh?

I scold myself instantly for thinking such thoughts.

"John?" I say meekly as I approach him, thinking that maybe I should tap his shoulder or something. He doesn't respond, instead moving his hands even more frantically over his vessel and sigh lightly into her kiss.

"Er…John?" I try again, reaching out and attempting to tap him. But as I put my hand out, he suddenly shifts so that he's leaning into the girl more and kissing her neck. She moans and stares at me blatantly, her gaze both questioning and threatening. I've never seen her before in my life.

"John? JOHN!" I yell, suddenly impatient. I look back, checking for Liam. He's still there, talking to one of his buddies, but the bell is going to ring any second and he needs to get to class. I take a deep breath and turn back to Lennon. "JOHN!"

He half turns his head. "I'm kind of busy right now," he says breathlessly. The bell chimes loudly above his head, but he doesn't move. He's probably going to ditch class, the dumbass.

I really, really did try and give him a chance. My gaze turns to hatred, and I hiss, "We need to get a better start on this project. I know you're busy, what with fucking Ashley McDonald or whoever the hell that is, but some of us actually care about our lives."

John STILL isn't paying attention, his hands moving friskily over the girl's back.

I stomp my foot. "God DAMN it John, I just want to say one thing! You're such a fucking loser." I spin on my heel marching back to Liam. "I HATE him so much!"

Liam immediately takes my hand again, and we start off quickly to class. "Yeah, I know. But you could have talked to him some other time. He WAS busy…"

For some reason, this annoys the hell out me, and I shoot Liam a dirty look and wrench my hand away from his, walking the rest of the way to class with my arms crossed tightly over my chest.

…

If only,

I could stand to look you in the eye.

If only,

I didn't pretend not to watch as you walked by.

If only, if only.

**AN: Hope you all have a lovely weekend! Review, if you please! :^)**


	10. Flashback II

**AN: I'm supposed to be doing my homework right now. Actually, I went to my friend's house after school for a Homework Party, and we ended up making mac and cheese and drinking Capri Suns and going on Photobooth, so that was a total fail. And now I'm supposed to be doing the rest of it, so I told my dad I had to type a paper and snuck into the living room to watch the highlights of the last Bears game and write THIS little thang. So now that you know all about MY life, here's some of Cara's!**

FLASHBACK (4 MONTHS PREVIOUS):

Normally, I didn't do parties. But for Melanie, sure, why not? She had been one of my best friends for a long time, and lately we had been growing apart. Obviously, I knew EXACLY why that was, and I couldn't even lie to myself (or her) and try to save face. Mel was dating John Lennon, a boy I hated ever since I was a little kid. He was just…ugh.

So, I felt that me and Melanie could use some re-connecting, so we threw this party together, just a little start of school thing. Someone told me that Bob Rogers and Christine Hearty were heading upstairs to Melanie's bedroom, and I was already hot on their tales. Mel had strictly instructed me that there was to be NONE of that, so I was doing my best to enforce her law.

That was when I heard it.

"John—STOP that! I'm not doing this now!"

"C'mon, Melly…it's never been a p-problem…" His voice was heavily slurred, and I could hear him stumbling about in the room. I got that nauseated feeling in my stomach, the one you get when you're hearing something you really DON'T wanna hear.

"Get OFF of me!" Melanie screamed, and I peeked around the door just in time to see her throw herself off the bed and lunge at the door. But John caught her hand, pulling her back so hard it looked like he had pulled her arm out of the socket.

"Shhh…we're just havin' fun, baby." He tried to seal his lips onto hers, but she wrenched herself off of him again, this time taking him off the bed, too, with the force of her pull.

"That's IT! We're DONE!" She tried to stomp off, but John gave a threatening growl. Before I knew what was happening, he had once again gripped her hand, dragging her back so that she was again in front of him. "OW! John STOP you're hurting m—" Before she could finish, he brought his hand down hard, smacking her right across the face. She let out of a moan and fell to the ground, her hands clasped over her face.

John stared at her blankly, as though wondering who the hell had just hit his girlfriend. Then, almost as if someone had slapped HIM, he knelt down, putting a hand gently on her arm. "Fuck…I'm sorry, Mel, I d-didn't mean to…to do that…"

She scrambled away from him, looking up with wide, tear filled eyes. "How could you?" she whispered, deadly quiet. And then she got to her feet, tripping over her feet to get out the door, not even noticing that she had to push past me because of the thickness of her tears.

I stepped into the doorway, my stunned expression searing John's. I knew that he could be mean, that he was cynical and sarcastic and that I didn't care for his arrogance, but I never knew that he was a violent drunk, and I ESPECIALLY didn't know he beat his girlfriends. Maybe it was just this time, but how could I know for sure?

John stared back at me, swaying where he stood. His mouth was wide open, his brow furrowed. He looked DEEP in concentration. "I-I…I'm…I'm so sorry," he finally managed. Then he spun around and threw up.

Slowly, I shook my head with disgust. "What a loser," I hissed, then turned on my heel and went off in search of Melanie.

….

If you could radiate your hate,

Surely I would melt.

But the thing is,

You don't understand how bad I felt.

**AN: Listen, guys. You John lovers out there probably think I'm trying to portray John as the bad guy. But really, I'm just trying to say that people are idiots. They're stupid, and mean, and they hardly EVER do anything heroic and brave and great. Sure, John was incredibly guilty of hitting his girlfriend, but wasn't Cara even more guilty by just standing there and letting it happen? Think about that one guys, and review, if you want.**


	11. Family Dinner tiiiiime

**AN: Wow, so…thanks for the reviews, guys. Really, that was crazy awesome. The thing about this story is that I don't take it very seriously, as in I don't plan out exactly what I want to happen all the time, so I never really expected anything like what you guys have said. So…thanks again. ALSO! Who is REALLY gettin' in the Halloween spirit? I feel like my group of friends is just overly-Halloweenish. I mean, we've even decided to do our costume as The Breakfast Club, but instead of being the characters, we're being breakfast foods. HOW COME NO ONE LIKES HALLOWEEN ANY MORE BESIDES US? That's what I wanna know.**

The thing about Family Dinner is that it always happens on a Sunday, and I'm always late, and my mother is always mad, and all my siblings are always there. Basically, it's the humanist form of hell they could come up with for me, and they (they being my parents) enforce it every week.

"Cara, sweetheart, how are you doing in school these days?" my mother asks, smiling sweetly down at me. Sure, she's all smiles now, but when she's angry she's a real beast.

"Fine, I guess," I mumble into my mashed potatoes, swirling my fork around them and making patterns. Beside me, Shannon nudges me sharply, and when I look up she gives a quick jerk of her head. Stop being so childish, she is saying. What a bitch. Like SHE'S so much older than me. Two years, Shannon, so you can go fuck yourself.

"Cara's got a boyfriend," Keegan, a stupid freshman, pipes up, smiling smugly. Keegan, I feel I must point out, is a going to be a hottie when he gets older. Real chick magnet, I'm tellin' ya. But right now, he's on the smaller side, with a hollow, gaunt face, bony limbs, and bright blue eyes. Kinda icky, if you ask me.

"Bout time," Ryan chuckles in his raspy, I've-been-smoking-since-grade-seven-and-I'm-only-twenty voice. "And here's us thinking you'd die a virgin." 'Us' would be referring to the siblings. We have to stick together usually, but the biggest family secret is that we all hate each other.

Dad gives Ryan A Look, which immediately shuts him up. If Henry was still alive, he would have shut them ALL up. Henry was a bad ass that way. He had the power of speech (and violence) and picked many a fight in his day to defend my honor. I missed him like crazy every single day.

"A boyfriend, eh?" Mom inquires, raising her eyebrow. "And who is this?"

"Liam Marrison," Megan puts in before I can say anything at all. "He's SO hot." She giggles as though this is the most scandalous thing in the world, rather than a well-known fact.

I feel like I should make something clear about my family. It's fucking huge. And while I knew people with MANY more kids, we had the added benefit of having The House. You know, the house on the block where the kids were just naturally attracted to. So, even though Jack and Ryan had already moved out, there was (by age), Shannon, me, Keegan, Megan, and Isabella. And Henry, but…well, not really Henry, I guess.

I stab my pork chop bitterly with just the thought of my huge family.

"And don't forget about John Lennon," Keegan says, "I heard you two have a little thing."

"TWO boys?" Isabella snickers.

"Stay away from Lennon," Jack warns in his deep, doctor-like voice. Jack was the oldest of us all at twenty two, and I swear to God that boy could be a superhero.

"You don't have to worry about that," I assure him, rolling my eyes. "I hate that kid."

"HOW do you hate Lennon? He was a legend even in MY grade," Shannon tells us, ending her piece of the conversation with a sip of water.

"I'm confused," Dad says, a frown set in deep on his forehead. "So WHICH young man am I meeting? This Lennon fellow, or Liam Marrison?"

"Liam Marrison!" Megan squeals.

"Smarmy ass bloke," Keegan mutters. Shannon nudges him sharply.

"I say go for Lennon. Sounds like he'd be more fun than this Liam guy," Ryan adds. Of course, Ryan always HAD been the party boy of the family. When he wasn't around, our father commonly referred to him as The Disgrace.

"Lennon, Lennon, Lennon," Shannon, Keegan, and Ryan start chanting.

"Liam, Liam, Liam," Megan, Isabella, and Jack chant back. Our parents exchang confused looks.

"Guys—would you STOP! Liam is my boyfriend, and I—"

"LENNON, LENNON, LENNON!"

"—hate John's guts, so there's no way I'd EVER—"

"LIAM, LIAM, LIAM!"

"—change my mind. Liam is quite possibly the man I've always been searching for, so—"

"LENNON!"

"—I think you guys should just—"

"LIAM!"

"—stay the FUCK out of my life!"

And with that, I stood up from the table, marching out of the room and leaving the behind the battle, Keegan's war cry of LENNON still floating above the rest of the voices.

"Cara, sweetheart, watch your language," my mother calls from back at the table. Oh, please. She might as well focus on the others, as everyone knows I'm the only normal in this family.

…

They all look the same,

Different, at best.

But I could pick her right out,

And ace THAT test.

**AN: Personally, I know a family with seven kids, and I love them all to death. They're all incredibly smart, really good looking, and super nice. And I've also eaten dinner at their house a number of times, since I'm pretty good friends with the one that's in my grade. May I just say…complete and utter chaos. :^) Review, people.**


	12. The Banana King strikes back

**AN: I had cramps that woke me up at three in the morning and wouldn't let me go back to sleep when I have to wake up at five. I'm super happy, if you cannot already tell. So I'm updating my fucking story, because I can already tell it's gonna be a shit week. **

We sit on the front porch, my favorite place in the world to be, the cool autumn air running through my hair and sending a chill down my spine.

"You cold, baby?" Liam asks, running his smooth, pale hands up my arms to try and add some heat into my body. I adjust on his lap, positioning my arms around his neck so that I can look right up into his pretty blue eyes.

"I'm fine. I love being cold." I smile, but it doesn't last long, because immediately I have to open my mouth to breathe. I love being close to Liam, and I love snuggling and all that, but in such close quarters, there's no way I could breathe out of my nose. The banana scent was just overpowering.

Liam frowns, pulling his head back. "Who LIKES being cold? And why are you always breathing out of your mouth? It's kinda creepy."

Of course, I couldn't just TELL him the exact reason I was breathing out of my mouth. I mean, that would obviously offend him, wouldn't it?

"Uh—"

But I was saved from having to answer, because at that moment someone clears their throat, and we both look up to see who our visitor is.

"Well, well. This looks cozy." John leans against the column on the porch, a smirk firmly in place and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His cheeks are rosy and his Ted like hair is loosened into natural curls and blowing around his face.

I scowl immediately, straightening up on Liam's lap and giving him a cold, hard stare. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we had a date," he shoots back, his eyes just as instantly narrow. But he's doing it just to spite me, not because he really doesn't like me. I think that's what I hate most about John Lennon; no matter how much I insist that I really, REALLY don't like him, he always come back for more, always taunting and teasing me. He's so damn arrogant that he honestly thinks that one day I'll love him like the rest of the world does. And that's bullshit, because I won't. If there was one thing I was determined about, it was that.

I can feel Liam staring at the back of my head, questioning John's comment. "STUDY date," I clarify, a light blush coloring my cheeks. "For our Senior Project."

John says nothing, instead taking a few more steps onto the porch and sitting down directly across from where Liam and I are snuggled. He stares pointedly at us, still not uttering a word. Finally, Liam sighs, pushing me lighting in the small of the back so I get the hint and hop off of him.

"I don't know why I even put up with this," he comments as he takes the stairs two at a time. He doesn't say goodbye, doesn't turn back and wave. There's no I love you, or see you later. There's just the silence of John baring his dark, brown eyes into the side of my head as I watch my boyfriend walk away.

When Liam is all the way down the steps, I finally take a good, long inhale through my nose. John finds this incredibly amusing.

"I can't help it! It's just…SO sickly sweet I could throw up." I cross my arms in defense, crossing my legs cockily. When Lennon just keeps chuckling, still not saying a word, I feel the need to keep defending myself. "It's not like it's not TOTALLY worth it. I mean, look at him. He's gorgeous. I do what I have to so that I can be around hi—"

"Cara—I get it."

And John is giving me such a serious look that I stop midsentence, actually believing him for once in my life. "O-oh. Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, leaning back in his chair. The picture of ease. "No matter what he does, or smells like, you're still attracted to him. There's nothing you can do. You've tried everything, but no matter what, he's the one person that can light up your day. It doesn't matter how much of a fucking dick he is to you, or how selfish he's being, or if he can't see how hard you're falling for him." John shrugs, rocking back so that he's in normal sitting position, meeting my gaze head on. "You just love him."

For some reason, I don't even believe these words just came out of this boy's mouth. I mean, REALLY. John Fucking Lennon. He's just supposed to swear and drink all the time, have sex left and right, be an asshole. He's not supposed to hit your exact feelings over the head with a hammer, acting as though he's felt them for someone, too.

There's just one thing, however, that I want to make clear to him. "I'm not in love with Liam. Maybe one day…but I'm not. In love with him, I mean."

For some reason, this brings a huge smile to John's face. And for a second, I question why I truly hate a guy with a smile like that. But then I zoom back to reality, and I remember all the horrible things he's done to me. Of course I hate him. It makes perfect sense.

"I don't know why you WOULD be in love with him. Damn Banana King."

….

You don't love him,

But that's news to me.

Is it time to leave you alone?

To let you be?

**AN: MY MOTRIN KICKED IN! PRAISE THE LORD! Maybe now I'll get some sleep and won't fall asleep in Algebra again. I swear to God, you'd think an Honors class would keep me busy instead of making me drowsy, right? Wow, I just read this over, and really doesn't seem as though I wrote this at three in the morning. Maybe my Tired-Writing skills are getting better. Review, if you wanna. **


	13. JohnWatching gone wronggg

**AN: I feel like I didn't exactly portray John correctly in that last chapter. He was too…nice. And I'm not saying that John was never nice, but I think if he honestly liked a girl, he wouldn't be too nice to her. I think he was just that type of guy. You know the type. God, fanfiction is saving my life right now. I have had the week from HELL. Honestly, four hours of homework tonight. I got home from school, and then I did my homework til dinner, and then a little after. Fun day, all around. (NOT!) Okay, I'm done. You can read the chapter now.**

I had taken to a new hobby in my art class.

Okay…I will be the FIRST to admit, it was damn creepy. But it got me through the hour, so whatever. I mean, it's not like he KNEW I was doing it, or anything. I was obvious, but not THAT obvious. I still have a little bit of self-respect, dammit.

I call it John-Watching.

Fuck, that sounds so bad. Especially considering the amount of dislike I have for him and everything.

Back to the John-Watching. Since Liam has now moved to sit next to me in class, and I CAN'T breathe out of my mouth the entire class, I focus on a particular target and I just WATCH until I distract myself from the smell. And the first day I started his (effective) method, I randomly chose to watch John. And John is, to say the least, very interesting when he doesn't think anyone is watching him.

There's this one thing he does, something I'm REALLY interested in knowing the thought process on. He sorta puts his fingers together, lining up his hands perfectly, and then he flexes his fingers. At first it's really slow, rhythmic, and then it gets faster and faster. All the while he just stares right down the bridge of his nose at them, as though he's fascinated. The best part of all is when someone addresses him or the teacher asks him to please pay attention, and then he throws his hands under the desk and his back, like, snaps straight up and down into this perfect posture. It's hilarious.

"Cara?" Liam asks in a loud, annoyed voice, trying to snap me out of my John-Watching. I take a deep gulp through my nose, then turn to look at him.

"Yes?"

"We're supposed to be working with our partners…"

I look up, letting the breath I was holding go right in Bianca Horshe's face. "Sorry," I apologize quickly, then slide out of my seat and slink away. I can feel Liam's eyes on the back of my head, and I realize I should probably go back and apologize, but to be honest…I'm starting to hate bananas.

"What've you done so far?"

I look up, and I notice that my feet have unknowingly taken me right to John's desk. He's closing a notebook as I approach, and I glance at the name he's given it, which is scratched onto the cover: WORDS ABOUT THAT BITCH. Wow. What a deep guy.

"I…I haven't done much. Our theme is…what, again?" I look over at Liam, slightly distracted for a second. Bianca is throwing her hair over her shoulder, leaning into him, and he's smiling lightly. Wait—she's leaning IN to him? HOW IS SHE STILL ALIVE? And is she…is she INHALING DEEPLY! Oh HELL no—

"CARA!"

"What?" I blink a couple of times, trying to regain my focus, white hot fury burning my insides. That BITCH.

"Our theme is human emotion." He reaches into a folder, producing the punctured heart that he drew on my porch the one day. "And I'm not doing it all for you."

"Ah, what a change of events," I sneer, sitting down at the desk closest to him. "YOU doing all the work for once."

John pretends to push an invisible pair of glasses up his nose. "Yes, well," he mocks me in a high, nasally voice, "if you don't want to do the work, I have no other choice but to—"

"John," I say, stifling a giggle, "you're not funny. At all."

"Ah, she SAYS that, but…" he mutters to himself, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. He hands both to me. "I want you to portray sadness. I think you'd be good at it, seeing as you're depressing as hell."

This is news to me. But I say nothing as I take the paper in my hand, and start to form a tear drop. I whisk the lead across the paper like I saw John do, trying to make it look imperfectly perfect. It ends up looking like a deformed rectangle.

John snorts at my feeble work, immediately taking out a big, flat, pink eraser and rubbing my mistake off the page. "There, a clean start."

I sit there, the pencil in my hand, and stare at the paper. "John…I'm not a good artist," I say in a small voice, because for the first time in a very, very long time, I'm not the best at something. And that actually hurts. Really bad.

Wordlessly, John leans over, wrapping his large hand around my small one. His breath his right in my ear, and I can feel his body heat on my back. His hand is rough, calloused, so much unlike Liam's smooth, baby soft ones. Is it horrible that I wish Liam had hands like John did?

I can hardly breathe for some reason, but it's not at all like when Liam's around. John has a smoky smell, but it's undertoned with something else…something…mintier. Spearment.

Fuck, I did I just SMELL John Lennon?

His hand guides mine as it glides across the paper, arching perfectly and coming to a soft finish at the other side of the paper. It's perfect. Why is he so fucking good at drawing?

"There," he says softly, making me jump, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Here's the thing: when he startled me, I accidentally knocked his WORDS ABOUT THAT BITCH notebook off his desk, and it flops to the floor beside me, opening up to a random page. I instinctively reach down to get it, but all of a sudden there is a fast, jerky movement above me and my head hits the bottom of the desk.

"Ouch," I moan, as John's hand darts in front of my face and retrieves its notebook.

"Don't you ever—GOD, CARA! You're so—fuck—I can't even…" I can barely understand him. He's suddenly turned bright red, and he's SO damn flustered, trying to stuff things in his backpack and get away from me at the same time.

"Hey!" I say, standing up, not even caring that the whole class is looking on. "Wait! I didn't even DO anything!

He backs up, his eyes shifty and his face still bright red. "Oh, SURE you didn't. Just let THEM all fucking know that." He looks at the class, who are all staring at him with wide eyes. "You're so—you're such a fucking dumb bitch, that's what you are." I reach forward, trying to steady his shaking body, but he leaps out of the way. "Don't TOUCH me!"

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about." I'm completely mystified. Here's John, acting like I tried to like…RAPE him or something, and I didn't even do anything at all.

Then, before anything more can be said, the bell rings, and John spins on his heel and wrenches open the door, slamming it shut behind him. Nobody moves for a second, and then I slowly turn, looking at Liam. By the look on his face, I know I'm in trouble.

…

I don't like you,

But I love you.

Seems I'm always,

Thinking of you.

**AN: Yeah, I know. The poem this time is lyrics. But I just thought I applied perfectly, you know? Haha, that's it for now, as I'm scrabbling to get this posted before I pass out. REVIEW!**


	14. MIA and I miss you

**AN: Okay, guys. Please don't hate me for this, but…I'm taking things a little bit out of chronological order in the story of John Lennon. I mean, the story really has no time period, and it really has no setting, either. I'm not making this an immense, detailed story. So, now that that's up in the air, I wanted to ask…did you guys understand why John completely melted down over the notebook thing? I thought it was extremely obvious, but maybe I was wrong…? It's not a matter we should dwell over right now, so I'm just gonna move on. Chapter…what is this? Fourteen? Sweet Jesus, I need a hobby.**

I didn't see John for a long time after that.

He didn't come to school, that was the main reason. There was no obnoxious, overpowering laugh floating about. There was no banging sound that you could hear all the way in the classrooms as John made out with a new girl. There wasn't anybody to watch in my art class, where Liam breathed down my shoulder and smelled up the place. And there was CERTAINLY no Senior Project progress, which was the thing that got to me the most. At least, that's what I told myself.

John didn't live all that far away from where my house was situated, so usually I would see him riding his bike down the street with his hair whipping all over the place and him screaming my name in different annoying accents. But he didn't come around anymore. He never spontaneously showed up on my porch with a new piece for our project, and I never got the chance to marvel over how amazing he drew when he really applied himself.

It seemed as though John Lennon was…gone. Just wiped off the face of the planet. I told myself this was a great thing for me. Goodbye and good riddance. Who cared, any ways? I hated that boy with my life. And sure, a lot of people had their own reasons for John's disappearance, but for some reason I HIGHLY doubted that he got his dick bitten off by Ashley McDonald or whatever and was now in the hospital trying to recover both his health and dignity.

His absence in my life was starting to make me crazy. With no one to take my frustrations out on, I was bottling everything up, and often the pain of all the feelings churning around in my stomach was unbearable. A part of me kept hoping that he would show up to school the next day, that I would hear him pedaling down the street and bellowing, "CAAAAAAARRRRRRRRAAAAA!" in a strong Irish accent. The other part of me shot down these thoughts, telling me that it was better this way. More time to focus on Liam, on me, on my family. Senior Project wasn't due for another couple of months. I could procrastinate like everyone else in my class was doing. Sure, it would be easy.

Who the fuck was I kidding? If John Lennon didn't show up to school the VERY NEXT DAY, I was going over to his house and beating some sense into him. With that decided, my mind shut up about the whole incident, a lot of my stress clearing. When the ache in my heart didn't go away, I finally came to terms with something that I should have realized a loooooong time ago:

I sincerely missed him. Stupid fucking loser.

…

Half of what I say is meaningless,

But I say it just to reach you, Julia.

When I cannot sing my heart,

I can only speak my mind, Julia.

**AN: I didn't wanna have to do it, but there it is. :( Review?**


	15. XOXO

**AN: By popular demand, there shall be a hug. That's all I'm saying.**

John didn't show that day.

"PAUL!" I had figured out John's big eyed friend's name was Paul McCartney. "PAUL MCCARTNEY!"

The boy looks up from his sandwich, surprised by the outburst. "Yes?"

"Where is he?" I demand, slamming my flat open palm on the table. "I'm not failing my Senior Project for some LOSER!"

Paul casually chews, gazing up at me through what I realize are really, REALLY gorgeous eyes, not weird eyes. "He's at home, I'd imagine."

"And why the fuck would he be there?"

"Because HERE is the last place he wanted to be." Paul McCartney frowns, and once again realization strikes me. Paul is beyond cute. Why has this fact evaded me for so long? Maybe I've just been focused on something else, huh?

I nod slowly, floating away from his lunch table and making my way back to mine.

"What were you doing talking to HIM?" Melanie hisses to me as soon as I sit down.

I look up at her with a slight frown, as though in a heavy daze. Why the fuck is it HER business? I look around at the rest of the cafeteria, all these people minding other people's business, evading certain privacies, making themselves feel perfectly at liberty. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tall boy approaching the seat next to me. In moments, my entire personal space will be overpowered with the heavy, fruity, sickening scent of bananas.

I stand up suddenly, spinning on my heel and leaving my books in a heap on my now vacated spot of table.

"Where are you going?" Liam calls after me, but makes no attempt to come after me.

Truth is? I'm so fucking tired of him.

…

I know John's house well. Every time I used to pass by here, Mel would giggle and point up to his window and gabber on to me about how the cutest boy in the grade lived there. And then usually I would make some demeaning comment about his face or his intelligence. But now every time we passed by, we both cast ugly looks at the tall, brick house.

"JOHN!" I bellow, pounding my fist on the thick, wooden front door. "OPEN THIS DOOR!"

Suddenly, my prey is wrenched out from under me, and a tall, stern, dark-haired woman is glaring down at me. "Yes?" she asks with a cold flick of her eyes. With a pang, I realize that this is the way I normally look at John and his friends.

"I-I was wondering if—er—" I stammer as my cheeks flame up. "Um…is John in?"

The lady glances over her shoulder at the large grandfather clock that stands just in the living room and is visible from where I stand. With a sigh, she looks back at me. "John is out running an errand for me."

I swallow. "May I come in?"

Something about me must look pretty damn serious, because she heaves another sigh and steps aside. "If you must. John's room is just about the stairs."

I thank her and begin to climb the steps two at a time, anxious to see what the boy's room looks like. When I push the door open, however, I find four white walls, a pale blue bedspread, a plain brown desk, and an old acoustic guitar standing in the corner. Everything else is bare.

Silently, I move forward, running a hand lightly over the well-worn strings on the guitar, trying to picture John strumming his fingers over them. The mental image is somewhat blocked by the memory of him drawing pictures of penises and taping them to my locker in junior high.

I move past the guitar, noticing for the first time that the plain desk was slightly occupied. A notebook was lying open, a pencil sprawled across one of the pages. There is a slip of paper, so I pick it up. My eyes slip across the words there, barely taking in their meaning. Julia Lennon, it proclaimed, keep her in our prayers. It proceeded to give a birth and death date, and then finally: Mother of John, Julia, and Jacquie.

Oh, fuck. Almost against my will, I shifted the pencil that was covering some of the words on the notebook page. A poem was written there, scratched in a messy scrawl I recognized only too well. I felt my hand slowly make its way up to my mouth, shaking, as I bent lower to try and decipher the words.

"Ahem."

I spun around, my hand still clutched at my face. John's face was dark, possibly as dark as I'd ever seen it. There was something about him that looked…dead. That life and spunk and mischief that usually lived behind his beady brown eyes was extinguished.

"I'm…I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

John remains silent, the only sign that he is alive being the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, as though he's just run a marathon.

"I came over…I thought we could work on—but obviously that's out of the question..." I let my voice trail off, feeling utterly stupid and wanting nothing more than to crawl under a rock and die. John is SURE to kill me for snooping through his stuff, and it's pretty obvious right now that he's upset. Honestly, I'm kinda scared.

The room is dead silent, and I suppose the women downstairs—I have yet to figure out who she is, as obviously she's not John's mother—is probably trying to figure out what we're doing. John just keeps staring at me, studying me as though I'm an exhibit at the zoo. I wonder what he's thinking…it's something I often wonder about other people. But mostly John.

"I suppose your mum still makes your lunch?" he asks suddenly. "Cleans your house, huh? Does your laundry?"

For some inexplicable reason, my jaw starts to tremble, a lump forming in my throat and a dull ache behind my eyes. John's monotone of a voice spikes at the end, an accidental slip of emotion causing him to sound more human than he probably would have liked.

"Well, my mum NEVER did that sort of thing. Never. She didn't care for me, didn't want me." His nostrils flare suddenly, and his mouth twitches. "And now she's fucking dead, so she never will."

Tears roll down my face, blurring my vision slightly. I try as hard as I can to stifle them, because the sight of a crying girl in his bedroom is probably not an ideal for John, but I can't. His life…it's so much sadder than I realized. A tragedy in my own backyard.

"I bet your mum used to tuck you in at night when you were little," he continues, his voice dropping to barely more of a whisper and his upper lip curling. "I bet she used to kiss you on your forehead and tell you she loved you, yeah?" He blinks, and for a fraction of a second, he doesn't open his eyes. A look of pain flashes across his hardened features, and then as quickly as it appears, it's gone. "And I bet she really meant it," he chokes out.

That's it. I cross the room in a flurry, hardly thinking about it twice as I through my arms over his shoulders and sink my tear filled head into his chest. For a moment, he doesn't react, merely standing there as though in shock. Then, very slowly, his arms come to wrap around my back, holding me tight against him.

And for a few minutes, at least, we embrace, and I don't think about how much he's hurt me, how much he's hurt my friends. I just think about how much HE'S hurt, and how right now, all he really needs is a hug.

...

**You don't love me,**

**But that's okay.**

**A touch from you,**

**Is better than anything I can ever say.  
**

**AN: HAPPY? Now, you better review, now that John's gotten his hug and all.**


	16. Yellow Condoms

**AN: I love the weekends, but I HATE when I don't get any sleep over the weekends. Right now, I'm literally about to fall asleep. Not fun, especially when you're trying to write a freaking update. :^) happy reading, my lovelies. **

Liam's house…

It would be a terrible lie to say that it was horrible. His parents seemed like genuinely nice people, and they were actually extremely kind to me when I ate over that day. He was an only child, but he DID have a loyal golden retriever named Terrence that I really enjoyed. Liam's house wasn't huge, but it wasn't exactly tiny. His room wasn't immaculate, but there weren't any dirty socks flung about the floor as Keegan's room was.

It was average, expected, unexcitingly normal.

"Why is this the first time I've come to your house?" I ask him that night, settling onto the corner of his bed after dinner. He doesn't join me, instead scurrying about and doing next to nothing.

"Dunno," he answers simply, dropping to his knees and wiggling half way under his bed. It only occurs to me NOW that he's searching for something. Downstairs, the door bangs shut and we hear the car pull away; Liam's parents are going for a Friday night outing with their friends.

As soon as the car screeches out of the driveway (I make a note never to drive with Liam's father), my boyfriend pops up with a wide grin on his handsome features, something clutched in his fist. Without another word, he gets to his feet and leans forward, falling on top of me.

"Liam!" I giggle, sucking in my last gulp of fresh air. Earlier, I was dreading coming to Liam's house for that very reason; I figured that his house must smell just like him. But it didn't. Actually, it smelt quite nice. Like…cinnamon.

Liam's dimples pop out as his face looms closer, it's perfection almost too much for me. I try not to think about the fact that just yesterday I as avoiding this boy with my life, instead going over to his sworn enemy's house and handing out hugs.

"Shhh…" he breathes, placing gentle kisses on my neck, which causes my body to relax and flop back. Three months ago, this would have my heart beating out of my chest. But now…well, I wouldn't say there was NOTHING going on in there, but it just wasn't as exciting as it used to be.

Not until, of course, I heard the rustle in his palm.

I didn't think anything of it, at first. Maybe it was a piece of paper, or maybe I had just imagined it all together. But really, I should know better. You shouldn't doubt your instincts, and my instincts were to get the hell off that bed.

His lips connect with mine, and I feel my back arch subconsciously into him. He puts his hand there, and when my body realigns, he's holding me in his arms. Smiling down at me, I realize just how lucky I am. Liam is really breathtaking, and sometimes he can be quite a nice guy. I let out the breath I'm holding, thinking that all this time I've been really, really stupid.

A wave of banana blasts me, and I try to suck fresh air back in. But it's too late. I'm already gagging.

I leap off the bed, turning away from him and trying to catch my breath. That was pretty much beyond embarrassing. WHY did things like this always happen to ME? He probably thought I was the most immature little girl he had ever SEEN.

Then I turned around, and something caught my eye. In his surprise at my sudden exit, his palm had opened. He wasn't holding paper. He was holding a WRAPPER. A yellow, circular, THICK wrapper.

"Oh, my GOD, Liam…" I whisper, my eyes locked on the thing. "Is that…is that a—"

"Condom? Yes, well, it is." He swallows, trying to look confident. As though it's no big deal.

I shake my head slowly, eyes transfixed. "No…Liam, no way…I'm not anywhere CLOSE to ready for that." For some reason, I can't look away from that neon yellow wrapper. It's taunting me, threatening me, full of lies and deceit and betrayal.

And suddenly I realize why Liam dated me, insignificant, lowly, imperfect me.

"You were USING me," I accuse, my voice raising shrilly. "You just wanted sex."

He shoots me a look of disgust. "Oh, please. Like I couldn't get sex from some other girl besides you."

But I can see it—right there in his eyes: he can't. This whole time, I've just meant ONE thing to him.

"Get back on the bed and get over it, Cara," he orders, pointing to my vacated spot. "Now."

"I won't have sex with you, because I don't love you. As a matter of fact, I'll probably never touch you again." I take a step forward, a sneer firmly in place. "You lying, sniveling, promiscuous dirtbag."

Ouch, is written all over his face. But I don't care. I really, really don't care. "Cara—"

"Why don't you take your apologies AND your bananas and shove them up your ass, okay? 'Cause I really don't wanna hear them." I take one last scathing look at him, and then spin on my heel and am out of there. Everything about him makes me wanna throw up, and it's no longer just his smell.

"Bananas?" he repeats back dumbly, when I'm already half out of the room.

…

Why can't you see?

He's no good for you.

And we both know,

That it'll be ME you end up running to.

**AN: WEREN'T THESE STUPID THINGS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT?**


	17. Boys suck, and then you die

**AN: Well, shit, I really shouldn't be updating right now. I have to read this fucking book, because tomorrow I KNOW I'm not gonna wanna do it (what with me seeing the new Harry Potter and all). That stupid motha is sitting at the foot of my bed right now, open to my latest page, totally inviting me to come back and have a read. And I totally would, if it wasn't THE WORST BOOK IN THE HISTORY OF BOOKS. Seriously, guys. If your teachers ever tell you that you're gonna read Things Fall Apart, I recommend just killing yourself rather than putting yourself through the pain. It's bad. And that is my rant of the day!**

I open my Trig notebook, my head leaning on my palm as I prepare for another boring beyond belief session of homework. The small print glares up at me from the book, and I have to squint to read the tiny, meaningless words. With a frustrated sigh, I slam it shut, turning instead to the blank sheet of paper that I turned to in the notebook.

Only, I find that it's not so blank. And apparently, I heart John Lennon.

False. Inaccurate. Lies.

Luckily, I've always had a keen sense at recognizing handwriting. "KEEGANNN!" I bellow, calling my little brother. Two minutes later, he lazily saunters into the room, an apple in his right hand and a wide grin on his face.

"Did you call me, oh sister of mine?"

I grind my teeth, despised by the very look of him. "You did this," I hiss, jabbing my finger at the blasphemy written upon my Trig notes.

He doesn't even glance at it. "No I didn't."

"Yes, actually, I KNOW you did."

"I didn't."

"You DID!"

"Do you have proof?"

"What?"

"Evidence! Where's your evidence?"

I leap from my bed in one sudden movement, landing on top of him and forcing him to the floor. He squeals, flailing his arms and kicking his feet, but I manage to hold him down. Using the palm of my hand, I grind his face into the floor, hopping a little bit to knock the wind out of him."

"Ughhh…FINE. I did it." I let go of his head, but don't get off of him. "And…and I'm sorry, okay?"

I stand up, severely satisfied, and so does Keegan. "Thanks, Keeg. Now go throw this away." I tear the soiled paper out of the notebook, balling it up and tossing it at my little brother. "Thanks."

Keegan snorts, stuffing the paper in my backpack and not listening to word I say. He turns around, his face triumphant, like he's won anything at all. The last time Keegan won one of our fights, however, was when I broke my leg skiing two years ago and I was stationary in bed. He wouldn't let that go, either.

"Why do you love John so much?" I call after him, enormously agitated with him. "You know that he only dates GIRLS, right?"

Keegan is still turned around, but I can practically HEAR him roll his eyes. "My love for him doesn't even BEGIN to touch yours."

"What the fuck are you talking about? I hate him."

"Yeah, sure."

"KEEGAN! I hate him!"

Verbally fighting Keegan was one fight that I'd knew I'd NEVER win. He was as stubborn as a mule, and it was his way or the highway. "You're a walking contradiction." And then he slammed my door close, giving him the last word. As usual.

I really hate boys. Losers.

…

Your eyes are valley,

Your hair the night above.

Now speak to me slowly,

And don't deny my love.

**AN: I agree, Cara. I really hate boys, too. And girls. And just people in general. People, if you all haven't noticed, are just generally not good. And while I always try to find the best in them, they never come through. But me? I'm not cynical.**


	18. A secret? Teenage girls don't know love

**AN: God…okay, I really just don't know what to write any more. I feel like this story is getting tedious, like I'm repeating the same thing over and over again. And that's not fun to read nor is it fun to write. So please, I am IMPLORING you guys, will you give me some suggestions? Maybe some stuff that you want to see, other than John and Cara getting together? Thanks.**

I look up from my book, finding John standing in my doorway. I push tear tracks from my cheeks, straightening up and setting Wuthering Heights down.

"What?" I ask bleakly, wanting to be left alone in the worst way.

"Keegan told me you're in love with me," he counters, taking a step past the threshold and standing uncertainly in the middle of my room. "Like I should be so lucky." He emits a weak chuckle.

It strikes me that this is incredibly sweet, which makes me realize that he's already heard about what Liam did. Even though it happened just a couple days ago. I guess news travels fast when you don't care who knows, huh?

"You're such a loser," I mutter, wiggling my toes for something to do. I stare down at the chipped red polish that occupied them, reminding myself that I was due for a paintjob.

John disregarded that, as he always did. "He's an asshole, don't you know that?" I look up, finding him staring me straight in the eye. For some reason, I can't handle his gaze, and I look away.

"I know that. I broke up with HIM. Or is he saying the opposite?"

John shakes his head, coming to perch on the edge of my bed. "You're lying."

"What the fuck do you know about me?" I hiss, my defensive walls immediately sealing. John Lennon knows NOTHING. Nothing about me, nothing about Liam, nothing about anything.

He sighs, looking away and at his hands. "If you don't believe that, why are you still crying?"

My heart skips a beat. Truthfully? It was the book. It truly was my favorite book of all time, but one of the main characters was a bit too similar to someone I knew. And even though it certainly WASN'T the first time I read the book, it was the first time I read it from the prospective of a girl who had her heartbroken.

"Heathcliff," I say before I can stop myself. Immediately, I wish I'd said nothing at all. There was no way in HELL John Lennon had read Wuthering Heights, so I shouldn't kid myself to believe that he know who the fuck Heathcliff was.

John frowns, looking up at me. "You're crying because of him? What'd he do?"

Now here's the decision I have to make: keep going on the route I'm already am and tell John about the connection I made, or tell him to get the fuck out. It was pretty solid either way I had it, but some part of me wanted to open up to him, feeling he had opened up to ME about Julia.

"Heathcliff is mean, self-centered, selfish. But he LOVES Catherine. He really does. And the only way he feels he can show her that love is by forcing her to feel it, too. But what he doesn't understand is that she DOES like him. She's just afraid to be with him because she's afraid he'll slip through her fingers. It doesn't help that Catherine isn't too perfect, either. She's just as selfish as him." I look at John. "Don't you see it? Don't you see the connection?"

John blinks slowly for a moment, then stands up. "So you DON'T think Liam's an asshole? You REGRET breaking up with him?"

I sit there, pondering this. Is that what I'm saying? "No…" I say slowly. "I DO acknowledge that he's an asshole. But I also know that I can be, too. And when you love someone, you love them for who they are. All of them."

John's breath catches. "What would you know about love?" he asks quietly.

What would HE know about love, is the real question. He just fucks mindlessly while he's too pissed to know what's going on. But I don't say that. "I think I love him, John." Of course, this is an epiphany I JUST had, at that very moment. And it's stupid, and naïve, and I KNOW it. But I need to find out if it's true.

John's hands start to shake. His confident smirk is totally gone. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"You're right," I say, "but that's only because I've never BEEN in love. How am I supposed to know how it feels?"

John doesn't say anything for what feels like days, just staring at me. I can almost see the wheels ticking in his head, though his eyes are completely blank. Now that I think about it, I don't think I can EVER remember a time those beady, almost black eyes showed me anything he was feeling except for cruel amusement.

Finally, he clears his throat, and as thought that was a proper goodbye, he turns on his heel and hurries to the door. Almost as an afterthought, he halfway turns his torso, so I can just see the glint of his eyes.

"I'll tell you how it feels," he practically whispers. "It hurts."

….

Oh, and this boy would be happy,

Just to love you, but oh my.

That boy won't be happy,

Til he's seen you cry.

**AN: Like I said, I need suggestions. Also, I want to know what you guys think about this new development. Certainly, we KNOW Cara is being foolish. But who the HELL is logical at seventeen? I look at my seventeen year old sister, and I KNOW that she isn't. Review/suggest? **


	19. Subtle anger, John?

**AN: Fact: I am the lamest person on the planet Earth. Whenever I have spare time over the last couple days, I have been rereading the only story I have actually EVER finished. Any Time At All. I will be the first to admit that I'm a little hung up over it, as pathetic as that sounds. I'm on chapter eight of the rereading right now, and I'm feeling a little…sentimental, I guess. Seriously. I miss the hell out of that story. So, even though I SWORE that I would not do this…I'm thinking sequel. Fact: You all probably don't care, but I just had this epiphany and I thought I'd share it. So…go read. :)**

**P.S…I STILL WANT SUGGESTIONS!**

It was two months after that life-altering epiphany of mine.

Two months of limitless time with Liam, getting to know each other a little better. He apologized endlessly for what he did, insisting that I was wrong, that he wasn't using me. I still have no idea if that's true or not, all that I know is that he's changed. The jokes he used to laugh seem meaningless to him, and he's started to show a whole new side of himself.

In other words, he's opened up.

But…I just couldn't shake this nagging feeling that I had. It came in the form of gusts of the banana smell, which I was more than accustomed to; soundless, narrow-eyed hallway-glares from John; Keegan's old 'I Heart John Lennon' inscription in my notebook; the malicious looks from the cheerleaders; and that old, familiar sound of mid-class locker banging from the hall.

Liam had hurt me once, some part of my brain scolded me, so why shouldn't he be more than likely to do it again?

He's changed, the very conscious part of my brain argued back. He's different now.

Different my ass, Other Part replied swiftly. People never change.

However, I was continuously proving Other Part wrong, with Liam's gentlemanly ways and his renewed sense of chivalry. He was just about as romantic as could be, and— Well, I could spend hours going on about how great he is, about how lucky I am, but I won't. Because words just don't do him justice.

"Merry Christmas, Cara," Liam breaths, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on my cheek. A blush quickly spreads from the spot, consuming my face entirely.

I glance down at the small package he's holding, twitching my lips back and forth in anticipation. But, I won't open it yet. I want to save it for the perfect moment. So, I reach into my oversized bag, which sits on the floor at my feet.

"I have something for you, too," I say, tugging out a parcel a bit bigger than Liam's present. I had it to him, a wide smile of glee plastered onto my face. I can't express HOW long I've been waiting to give him this present. The excitement I've held inside almost bubbles over the edge, making me giddy.

Liam shakes his head at me, but his hands already move to the wrapping paper surrounding the object. He unwraps it quickly, taking about three seconds. Then, he lifts the revealed box to his face.

"Manly Men Make It Musky," he reads aloud, staring at the cologne. He frowns a little bit, deep concentration lines forming in his face as he reads the description on the back. "Wanna REALLY attract the ladies? Don't go with those other, fruity scents, go MUSK!"

He looks up at me, a forced smile on his face. "Thanks, babe," he says weakly, glancing down once more at the box.

Quite frankly, I don't care if he likes it or not. As long as he wears it, I'll be a perfectly happy bird. "Go ahead, put some on!"

"I already have cologne on," Liam tells me with a confused smile. "You know…I wear all the time!"

My eyes widen to near saucers, and I just stare at him. I literally can NOT think of one thing to say. "Um…I…well…"

He smiles, bends, and kisses me lightly on the forehead. "I'll wear it for you, though. Just not now." He picks up the present he already gave me, pushing it into my hands gently. "Now open."

I numbly being to unwrap my gift, one thought in my mind: the banana smell was on purpose. Oh help me Lord.

…

Love is not real.

I used to believe so strongly,

Now I don't know how I feel.

Why did you have to change?

**AN: Okay. Literally, this chapter took me FOREVER to write from start to finish. It's not even that long! But with school (finals coming up), my friends, homework, and just flat out life, I've been busy and TIRED as hell. Right now, I just feel dead tired, like I could collapse at any second. And right now I have to worry about grades (something I've never had to worry about in my LIFE) because apparently I'm not as smart as everyone thought. That's not a big shocker to me, but nobody ever listens to ME!**

**Anyways…ha I guess I'm gonna go do whatever the hell I still have to do tonight. REVIEW and take some of the stress away, please? :^)**


	20. Keegan hearts bananas

**AN: Harry Potter weekend is on, and it is snowing. My life is complete. **

John sits dutifully beside me, his hand scratching along the paper, as I stare longingly out at the snow. A fresh coat of snow is falling down, and all I want to do is throw on a jacket and sprint out there. I can imagine me in my mind, twirling around, catching snow on my tongue and my curly, black hair.

"Cara?"

I look over at John. I'm amazed that he's been putting up with me lately, because my mind has totally been out there with the snow. Thoughts of Liam gently float around, once in a while being blown up in a flurry by a rush of banana scent. However, a week or two ago he announced to me that we needed to finish up on our Senior Project for our art class. So here we were.

"What?" I ask, mindlessly smudging a bit of pencil that John forgot about.

He looks down, biting his lip in thought, and then looks up. "I have to tell you something."

My mind immediately rushes to the millions of possibilities. What could he have done…gotten a girl pregnant? Stolen a thousand dollars? Made it big with his band? Fallen in love with a man?

That last one makes me laugh, and I stifle my giggle with my palm. "What do you have to tell me, John?"

John opens his mouth, geared up to fire off his remark, when we are interrupted by a loud bout of shouting and two kids, fighting their way into the living room where we are currently working.

"Megan! I KNOW you stole it, I SAW you, so why are you even denying it?"

"SHUT UP, KEEGAN!"

My second youngest sister, Megan, is pushed into me, her black curls (so similar to mine) spilling out over my shoulder. I hold her steady, and John looks rather taken aback. He's not used to little kids, I know, because he's an only child. His little sisters lived with his mother, Julia, before she died, and he didn't even know where they were any more.

I stand up, authority seeping from my very pores. "Okay, what happened?"

"Keegan says that—"

"Megan stole my—"

"It's GROSS, that's the only reason—"

"Oh, please, you're such a little—"

"HEY!" I bellow, holding my hands up in between them to try and stop their bickering. They stop immediately. I stare down at them, beyond annoyed that they must argue every single day of my life. There is literally not ONE good day for Megan and Keegan.

"Now, tell me what happened. One at a time." I gesture to my brother, who is just a year younger than me. "Keeg, you first."

"Megan stole my cologne," he answers promptly, raising his eyebrows smugly and widening his electric green eyes. I can tell that he is telling the truth, because the corners of his lips stay even and do not twitch, as they always do when he's lying.

I sigh, turning to Megan. "And you?"

She crosses her arms grumpily across her chest. "I DID steal the cologne, but only because it was SO gross and I didn't want him to smell like it."

This made me curious. "What kind is it?"

"Banana Boys' Bungle."

My mouth falls open, and John snorts into his palm. I turn slowly, staring at Keegan as though he was some wild animal I had found in the forest. He stares right back, frowning slightly at my look of distaste.

"What?"

I swallow, half amused, half disgusted beyond belief. Without thinking, spit out the first words that come to my head. "You would, Henry."

Keegan freezes, staring at me. As does Megan. I feel a deep blush seep onto my cheeks, and suddenly I can't look at either of my siblings.

"You mean Keegan," Megan practically whispers, staring up at me with concerned eyes. She was young when Henry died, but me and Keegan had been close to him. We remembered.

My voice catches as I raise my head slightly, gazing over at the muddled John. "Maybe you should go," I suggest. My eyes flick down, then back to his. He doesn't understand, I know that much. But his expression gives off nothing else.

"Bye," he mumbles, and I remember that he was supposed to tell me something. For a moment, I consider stopping him and figuring out what he was talking about, but then I jump back into reality. Keegan shifts from his right foot to his left, and a waft of smell reaches both mine and Megan's nostrils. We both cringe.

I guess I have some things to take care of.

**AN: Scared Potter? You. Wish.**


	21. Flashback III

**AN: Guys. Hi. Can I just say something that I have neglected to mention throughout the entire process of writing I'm A Loser? YOU PEOPLE ARE FUCKING AWESOME! Like, no joke, your reviews make my day. And usually, my days are the lowest form of shitty that you can get. So you really make a difference. ALSO! To address a certain matter I think I saw referred to in one of the reviews…John didn't have a poem. Now…what would that be? Think about that.**

**P.S…RIP John Lennon, this one's for you. You psycho homophobe. **

FLASHBACK (ONE WEEK PREVIOUSLY):

The boy sat peacefully at his desk in the art room, shading his artwork masterfully. Just by looking at him, you couldn't tell what was going on inside his head. But if you knew him—REALLY knew him, like his good friend Paul—then you would know that he wasn't very happy. There were the slight showings; the gentle flare of his nostrils, the hard way his nearly black eyes gleamed, how he tapped his foot rapidly and kept glancing around him.

John Lennon was agitated, to say the least.

He heard the door creak slowly, but he barely looked up. The steady tap, tap, tap of his shoe on the cold tile floor was putting thudding beats throughout his head, and he was creating melodies for his beats. He was quite content with this; drawing and composing were two of his favorite things.

Suddenly, something was thrown down on the open desk in front of him. The fleshy thwap of a hand against hard plastic made him jump, and he glanced up in front of him with supreme irritation. His eyes traveled the length of a long, long, LONG, thin body, finally making their way up to piercing blue eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of a nose.

"Well, hello there, Liam. What brings you to this side of town?" He gestured around him, a slight smirk playing on his thin lips.

Liam leaned forward, his face flushed and his eyes on fire. "You stay the FUCK away from her, Lennon."

This, of course, surprised John. He was not one to be ambushed, and he didn't take such things lightly. He scoffed, standing up slowly and leaving his abandoned notebook on the desk. "I can't help it if she wants me; your mother's a very sexual lady, what can I say?"

"Shut up, you fucking prick."

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" John taunted leaning back causally on the desk. "'Cause I know I do."

Liam rushed forward, knocking John back and forcing him into the wall. He pinned him with his strong, thick forearm, nearly cutting off his circulation completely. John gasped for breath, struggling against the weight of Liam's fury.

He licked his lips fast as lightening, a frenzied look in his eyes. "I'm telling you for the last time; stay the fuck away from my girlfriend. She doesn't even like you."

John rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Just stay away from her," Liam repeated, shaking his head menacingly. "Or I swear to God—"

"What if I don't?" John interrupted. "What if I told you that I couldn't stay away from her? Or, I should say, that I won't."

Liam's nostrils flared, and he pushed John even harder in the throat with his arm. A gust of banana floated away from his body, and the other boy gagged. "If you so much as lay a hand on her, I would hurt you so bad you'd wish you'd stayed home and fucked your mother."

Now John was angry.

"I'm not going to do ANYTHING because a big, over-rated, ugly, MEAT HEAD like you TOLD ME TO!" He pushed Liam backwards, and he staggered into the desk where John's notebook lay open.

"Take it back," Liam nearly whispered, his eyes looking dangerous.

John didn't even blink. "I'm in love with her, and quite frankly, there's nothing you can do about it. I WILL win."

With a roar, the bigger boy lunged forward, crushing John against the wall again. He pushed and struggled, but there was no use. Liam was just too fucking strong.

"I gave you a chance. Don't say I didn't." Liam looked down into John's eyes, aiming his fist near his gut and preparing to strike. "Cara hates you."

Those words did more damage to John's stomach than Liam's words ever could. The banana smell was nearly suffocating at this point. Liam's gaze was penetrating, and John found himself looking up, staring into the impossibly blue eyes. He felt a sudden wash of hatred; blinding, unadulterated hatred. This guy, whom he had hated since the age of five, was stealing his love away.

"She hates you," Liam muttered again, softer this time. He was still staring John down, though now his gaze had softened. There was almost something…long, John thought, about the way his eyes watched his. Needless to say, John was extremely uncomfortable.

Then, without warning, Liam's lips descended down onto John's. The reaction was immediate. With a powerful thrust, John threw Liam's body off of his. The disgust was evident on his face, as was the tomato-bright blush on Liam's.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" John bellowed, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He couldn't wrap his head around it…did that SERIOUSLY just happen? No, it couldn't have, because this motherfucking DILDO was the one who stole Cara away, so it wouldn't make any SENSE that he was fucking GAY!

Liam blinked rapidly, looking just as shell shocked as John. He said nothing, however, just standing there. He clutched at the desk behind him to hold himself up because his legs were shaking so badly.

"YOU FUCKING KISSED ME!" John hollered, pointing his finger accusingly at Liam.

To his surprise, Liam didn't say anything back to this. Instead, he just turned around, speeding out the door like lightening. John stood there, a creeping feeling in his stomach. It was that feeling that you get RIGHT before you throw up all over the place; you know it's coming, yet you're too paralyzed (or too stupid) to move.

A guy had kissed him.

John turned around and puked out the entire content of his stomach. Twice.

….

That night, John found a note taped to his front door.

"I HAVE THE NOTEBOOK. TELL ANYBODY AND I _WILL _TELL HER."

**AN: I just want to make something clear: I have absolutely NOTHING against gays, lesbians, bisexuals, or anything like that. It's just…lmfao…the EARLY John did. Very much so. Hence all the jokes with Brian.**


	22. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwkward

**AN: Don't you just LOVE when you gain practically gain ten pounds overnight? Yeah, me too.**

**OH! I have good news; I've finished the first chapter of the sequel/prequel thing for Any Time at All. Well…actually, it's not really the first chapter, but the second chapter. But it's the first chapter I've written sooo…just never mind. The story won't even be posted until THIS story is finished.**

"I'm running short on ideas," I admit to John, casually twisting my body toward him and away from Liam's scent. Liam, who refused to move during art class that day, was stubbornly sitting next to me. He seemed to not want John around me for some reason. Even though it was pretty obvious that I hated John. Most of the time.

John licks his lips, scooting closer to me on his chair. Liam casts him a menacing look, then turns to his partner again.

"I—er—lost my notebook, but I had a few ideas sketched out." He looks down, studying his rough hands. "Maybe we could work on it this weekend?"

"That won't be possibly," Liam jumps in, turning away from a rather annoyed Bianca. "I'm gonna be with Cara this weekend."

John's mouth hardens into a hard line. "The entire weekend?"

"Yes."

I grind my teeth together, extremely frustrated. "Liam, stop being such a prick. John, stop being…yourself."

John doesn't say anything, just returning to his empty paper. He makes a line, then quickly erases it. Then, as though inspiration just struck him, he quickly sketched out a classic symbol. I stare at it, a question forming on my face.

"Is that…is that a male symbol?"

John nods, then quickly sketches another one. He stares at his work for a moment, then looks up with a completely serious expression. "Hey, Liam, what do you think of this?"

Liam turns, ready to bark out something snarky, and sees the drawing. Immediately, his face turns dark red, and lines of rage form above his eyebrows.

"What do you think?" John repeats.

"Fag," Liam says, his mouth twisting cruelly.

I gasp, elbowing him sharply. "Liam! That's horrible."

"Yeah, Liam. Even homosexuals are people." John's face is completely clear and blank.

His face gets even brighter red, and his bright blue eyes ignite. "Queers are queers, and that all I'm gonna say about that."

I turn and look at him, shocked. He's usually pretty sweet and understanding, and I've never brought it up but I wouldn't THINK he would be so homophobic.

"That's pretty black and white. I mean, just the other day I found out this guy I knew was gay. I considered him straight as an arrow before, too." John leans closer to Liam, a twinkling in his eye. "You know who I'm talking about, right?"

Liam stares at John, seemingly unable to say anything. "You don't really know anything about that."

"Oh, but I do."

The two boys stare each other down. Awkward times ten zillion for me.

"You know my mom's friend, SARA?" Liam asks, staring directly in John's eyes. "Yeah, well, I was planning on showing her that notebook. You know…?"

As if something in his back had snapped, John pulls himself away from Liam with a clench of his jaw. In the same movement, he crumples up his new drawing.

"Yeah, I know. It was stupid of me to bring up the queer thing; I know you two were close."

"Sara's closer."

"Sure."

"She is."

"I bet."

They both stare each other down again, right up until the bell rings. I continue to sit there as everybody else in the class packs up.

What the FUCK just happened?

**AN: My friends…we're coming to a close, I'm afraid. Not this chapter, not the next chapter, probably not even the next. But soon. If ANY of you want to see something (again, BESIDES John and Cara getting together) then you need to tell me now. Otherwise…well, you'll all find out soon enough. Review?**


	23. Bananas Figuratively, of course

**AN: So, I resisted from updating all week, just in the hopes that someone would give me a suggestion…but no. Haha it's totally okay, it's just that I have a little plot line in mind for the end, and as soon as that plot line is done, so is the story. So all I'm saying is that if you want to keep the story going longer, I suggest suggestions. :^) Have you guys been aquatinted to George yet? Well, there he is over there. Kay…now read.**

It seems like this has become my life; sitting in my father's armchair in the living room, watching John draw pictures. It's not like this is what I WANT. Hell, if I had it my way I would even LOOK at the man again. He still infuriates me. But now I've learned to take humor out of his blatant and crude anger. I figure it's better for my health if I let things go and laugh, so that's what I've been doing. It's not like I like John or anything…not at all.

"What do you think about this?" he asks me, indicating the drawing on the page. It's a banana. Like, a serious banana. And it's awesome.

"Horrible," I say.

He sighs, shaking his head. "I'm only making fun of Liam a LITTLE bit."

"Erase it."

"No."

I look up at him, wondering how serious he is or if he's just being stubborn. "C'mon, John. We can't turn that in."

He takes a deep breath, his eyes still focused on the drawing. "I have to tell you something."

The last time he 'had to tell me something' we were interrupted by my siblings, and then I had let something slip about Henry. That had been a huge mistake by me, but I had asked him to leave anyways. After that I went up to my room and laid there for the rest of the night, reminiscing.

"And you couldn't tell me at school?"

He shakes his head slowly, as if deep in thought. "I couldn't risk someone overhearing."

"Kay, go ahead then."

John licks his lips, then spins around so he's kneeling in front of my chair. He looks half concerned, half anxious. It's as if he doesn't really want to say what's on his mind, but he feels as if he has no choice. Instantly, I sit up. This is looking grim.

"You know how Liam smells like bananas?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. The Banana King. We've gone over this."

"Right," he continues, clasping his hands in front of him. "Well…I think it's because he really, REALLY likes them."

"What, bananas?"

"Yeah."

This actually makes me giggle. "First of all, that's random as hell. Second of all, it's his cologne. He thinks it smells refreshing; I've asked him about it."

John's face scrunches together like he just consumed large amounts of lemon juice. "That's not what I mean," he states with a frustrated sigh, running his hand over his face vigorously. I don't understand him sometimes, I really don't.

"Spit it out, loser," I chide, prodding him with my toe.

He swallows. "What does a banana sort of…look like?"

I narrow my eyes. "A fruit."

He just stares at me, his face blank. Slowly, I catch his drift. "Oh. OH!"

"Yeah. Well. I think—I know—that Liam REALLY likes bananas. Like, a lot. More than he should."

My heart drops out, plummeting right down into my stomach. What was he trying to say?

"He's not…" I struggle to find the word, "…gay."

"Yeah, he is."

"NO! He's not. He's my boyfriend, we're together…he physically CAN'T be!"

John gives me the most sarcastic look I think I've ever seen. "Right, and that's been consummated?" I don't say anything (because it hasn't, really) and he grins widely. Almost…triumphantly. "He's gay, Cara."

A bitter taste travels to my mouth, and my stomach churns uncomfortably. Resent for inviting John into my house fills my brain, just as angry tears fill my eyes. But I don't let them spill over; I simply swallow the lump in my throat.

"Get out of my house."

A look of hurt flickers across John's face, but only for a moment. "I wouldn't lie to you. And I only know this because…he wants MY banana."

"Ugh," I spit, shaking my head in disgust. "Would you STOP lying to me? I have no idea why you want me and Liam apart, and I don't really care. Just stop fucking lying!"

"I'm not lying," he responds immediately, getting to his feet at the same time I do. "He kissed me, Cara. He KISSED me. Why would I lie to you about that? Do you really think I'm that sick of a person?" His face is filled with fervor and pain, and my gut wrenches again. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"Just get the fuck out of my house," I whisper, point at the door. I don't look at him; I can't.

Silently, he snatches his coat off the back of my chair, then yanks his arms through it. Next thing I know, the front door slams and I'm alone in the living room, my chest heaving.

Malicious thoughts fill my mind, each more severe than the next; John is a mother fucking, no good, lying bastard, and all he wants is to screw my life up. Liam is exactly the same. Who needs either of them? Why can't they just leave me the fuck alone for once?

My eyes fall onto the piece of paper resting innocently on my coffee table, and with a muffle snarl-scream, I grab it roughly. The light paper crinkles in my grasp, and that perfect banana bends with the paper. Without thinking, I rip the paper in half, the sound of it echoing around in my head.

A frustration-tear falls from my eye, landing with an over-pronounced SPLAT on one half of the paper. It smears the edge of the fruit, lead running down the page like the banana was crying, too.

The worst part? I actually believe John.

**AN: Oh. Shit. So what can you guys predict happens in the NEXT chapter? Maybe something including…a notebook? :^)**


	24. Ultra Special Holiday Special Part 1

**AN: Merry fucking Christmas. You know what Santa brought ME this year? A possible F on my Honors Algebra final. Because APPARENTLY I have no ability to ADD FREAKING NUMBERS and my mother effing teacher doesn't feel like TEACHING what he feels like putting on the final. It's not like he's graded my test yet, but I can definitely feel my first ever F on a test coming…and it hurts. **

**On the bright side, I've decided that I'm having an Ultra Special Two Part Holiday Special for I'm A Loser! It's so great it requires TWO specials in the name! I would also like to point out that it was from the GREAT mind of Sweeneysbestfriend that this came about. Here's part one.**

"I need you to come to my house at nine o'clock tomorrow night. It's vital."

I give John a scathing look. "Why? So you can try and push MORE lies into my mind?"

He sighs impatiently, shoving his arms through the holes of his jacket. He has a look of the utmost concentration upon his face. "Just come. The door will be unlocked, since the lock broke when I…never mind, it's not important. There's just something I NEED to talk to you about…about the Senior Project."

"The Senior Project? Why so late?"

John adopts a frustrated scowl. "I have plans with…" He lets his voice trail off meaningfully, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"That's gross. I don't wanna see you right after you've just—"

"CARA!" he interrupts. "Just fucking be there. I had a breakthrough."

And with that, he shoulders his bag and scampers away, glancing left and right as though in search for someone. If I had continued watching him, I would have seen him run straight into Liam. I would have seen Liam cast him a half angry, half nervous look. I would have seen John's face go blank, then saw him slip something casually into Liam's pocket. I would have seen Liam take it out, confused, and then glance over at the retreating John.

But I didn't.

**8:45:**

John wrings his hands, pacing nervously in front of the long, rectangular mirror that hung on a wall in Mimi's living room. His mind is currently consumed by thoughts of what he is about to do, and his stomach feels like it's about to demand entry out of his mouth.

The doorbell chimes.

With a few steps, John is at the door and holding his breath as he slowly creaks it open. Standing there, just like John knew he would be, is Liam. Liam looks…jittery.

"Hi," John breaths, his voice coming out in more of a squeak than a manly grunt. Light color comes to his cheeks, which he supposes Liam thinks is just adorable. He shudders at this thought.

"H-Hi," Liam stutters in reply, crossing the threshold quickly and entering Mimi's house. He looks around aimlessly, then decides on plopping himself down on the couch. He sits squarely, with his knees bent in a ninety degree angle and his face set.

John walks toward him slowly, glancing up at the wall clock on his way. 8:49. He didn't have very long before Cara was due…he'd have to make this quick.

"Liam, I'm sorry about the other night."

Liam's jaw immediately clenches, his knees drawing tighter together. John sits down awkwardly next to him, and the banana scent is so overwhelming that he nearly upchucks all over the pretty-boy. He must produce more banana-smell when he's around the…er…same sex, John figures, casting a shifty eyed look at the boy.

"I-It's okay…umm…I'm j-just…I'm not gay, ya know." His mouth turns into one hard, flat line.

John swallows a million dirty, sarcastic comments that cover his tongue. Instead, he forces himself to put a reassuring hand on Liam's thigh, leaning in ever so slightly. "Listen, if you need to talk about something…I'm here." His words sound so queer that he just wants to die for even having THOUGHT them.

"Why? You hate me."

"Maybe…maybe I know what you're going through."

The shock is very visible on Liam's face. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all…? Suppose the plan falls through, and Cara doesn't show…what if Liam had some sick sort of crush on John after all of this? What if he tried to make a move? Oh, fuck.

"Do you?" His face is angelic, hopeful. John tries his hardest not to cringe, instead glancing nondescriptly at the clock. 8:56.

"Er…" What does he say now? He was rather counting on the fact that Liam was hardly ever on time for school, so he wouldn't be on time for THIS. Which was why he had figured in an extra five minutes. But now he doesn't really have anything to say, and so, John figures, it's time to make shit happen. "I didn't mean it when I said those thing. Like I said, I'm sorry."

Liam swallows roughly, gazing at him intently. John can tell that he's trying to see through any front that he might be putting up, so John intensifies the look on his face.

"It's really okay, Liam. Who you are, I mean." Hating himself more than words, he leans just a fraction more. "It's REALLY okay."

As though taking this as a cue, Liam runs a hand through his hair, then adopts a look of great concentration. He slowly leans back into John (who nonchalantly leans BACK) so that he's nearly on top of him.

"Thanks for understanding," Liam whispers.

John, disgusted beyond words and struggling not to throw the guy off of him, carefully chooses his expression. It has to be the right mixture of pitiful and helpless, otherwise Liam won't buy it.

"Ehh…" John whimpers, slightly pulling his head away from that scent that was just pouring off of Liam.

As though in slow motion, Liam's head comes down and John tries to pull away inconspicuously, not bothering to hide the sick feeling he has swirling around in his stomach. Liam closes his eyes, his face relaxing and looking almost…joyous? Happy? GAY? If only his girlfriend could see him right now.

Suddenly, a door slams. Liam leaps off of John, his face immediately turning the darkest shade of red in the book.

"WHAT. THE. FUCK?"

Speak of the devil.

**AN: PART ONE OF TWO…CONCLUDED. So…for real, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanza…umm…shit, I don't know. Happy Holidays to EVERYONE, how bout? Yeah, that works. Within a couple of days I should be posting the Part Two to this, which will be my present to all of you…if you catch my drift… :^) **


	25. Ultra Special Holiday Special Part 2

**AN: HEY GUYS! TOMORROW IS CHRISTMAS EVE! SO GUESS WHAT THAT MEANS! CHRISTMAS IS ALMOST ! **

**I'm pretty excited. But in all seriousness, I want to thank the HELL out of you people. Seriously, guys. Wow. This story has become my most reviewed of all time, and I don't know whether that's because it's become one of my favorite, if it's because this section is becoming so popular, or because YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING AWESOME! I'm thinking it's that last, but you can never be sure. So. Back to business. This is Part Two of my Ultra Special Holiday Special for I'm A Loser! YAY! Hope you guys like it, since it's my present to you all.**

"WHAT. THE. FUCK?"

John stands up quickly, leaving Liam to sit all by himself on the couch. He's shaking, his eyes darting back and forth from me to John and back to me. No one says anything for a few deadly moments; you could cut the tension in the air with a motherfucking fork.

"H-Hi, babe," Liam stutters, standing up slowly. He is going to try and play it off…I don't even believe it. I SAW him trying to kiss John. SAW HIM. There's no way in HELL he's getting off on this one.

"Stay the fuck away from me," I hiss, taking a step back. John remains where he is, as though he's just an innocent bystander.

"I know what you're thinking. I do. But this isn't what it looks like."

"No?" I practically scream. "So you WEREN'T trying to make a move on my—" I stop dead, thinking about what I could call John. I don't like him; how CAN he? He's a lying, cheating, no good bastard. Well, I guess not lying. "—my John?"

John smiles quietly in his corner. The words are magic to his ears.

"Your John," Liam repeats, a twisted smile appearing on his face. "You little whore."

I roll my eyes dramatically, taking a heavy step towards the couch, which stands as a barrier between me and Liam. "Just shut the fuck up, you know how I feel about John."

"Yeah," he sneers, "and I know how he feels about you."

I blink once or twice, digesting this. In truth, I have no idea what this is supposed to mean. I decide that I'll think about it later. "And now I also know how YOU feel about him."

"I'm not—"

"Gay?" I watch the way he flushes at this, his mouth opening slightly. "Yeah, actually I'm pretty sure you are. Straight guys don't usually try and kiss other straight guys. Or is that all new to you?"

"He led me on!" Liam exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. "He made it seem like—he was acting like…" His voice trails away, waiting for me to fill in the blanks. But for once, I won't.

"I don't CARE if he led you on. I don't care, I don't care. You are what you are, Liam. There's nothing wrong with it. However, there IS something wrong with denying it and hiding behind me." I tear my eyes off his face, slowly roving my eyes until they are firmly focused on John. "I'm sorry for not believing you the first time," I say softly.

Simultaneously, John and Liam say:

"YOU TOLD HER?"

"It's okay."

I close my eyes, shaking my head and taking a step back. A step away from it all. I'm done, I decide. I don't want to deal with it all.

"Maybe it would better if you left, Banana Boy," John says, aiming this towards the King himself. "Now, thanks."

There is angry shout from Liam in retort, but both me and John ignore it. He stalks towards the door angrily, hardly stopping at all to whip something thin and light at my head.

"Fuck you. Fuck you both," he says just before he slams the door shut.

And then we're alone.

There is a blanket of silence that covers us both. I feel John's eyes on me, but I'm busy with something else. "This is your notebook," I say, holding the worn thing in my hands like someone would hold a small child.

"Yes."

I hardly even look up at him, instead flipping it open. Inside there are an array of what look like poems, songs, and drawings. I stop to read one, and it nearly brings tears to my eyes. "John…" I whisper, the word sounding so strange coming from my mouth. "Why did Liam have this."

He takes a hesitant step towards me. "He was holding it for ransom."

"Why?"

I flip the page, reading a poem about a girl with curly black hair and green eyes. It sparks something in my mind. Who do I know that looks like that…? I feel a hand on my arm, and I look up.

"He said that if I told you about…about him, then he would tell you about me," John says gently, looking down at me with those nearly black, beady eyes.

I nod slowly. About him…who would have known? Who would have known that John Lennon could be so deep, so passionate…so in love? It's a beautiful contradiction, to be honest. The bad boy is madly in love with a girl that he can't be with. But who is she?

I look up at him, surprised at the amount of intensity he's staring at me with. "John, you loser, you really need to tell her. These are beautiful."

"I was planning on it."

I cock my head, Liam so far out of my mind at this point that I manage to smile. "Who are these about?"

Wordlessly, he takes a step forward, his eyes locked on mine. I realize far too late what's going on, and before I know it his lips are on mine, and I press against the wall. His body mashes up beside mine, his back arching because of the difference in our height. Our lips, seemingly connected, meld together perfectly. It's the best kiss I've ever had…it's magical. The kind of kiss you never want to end.

Then I remember: I hate him.

I pull away, breathless. "John, stop," I manage, trying half-heartedly to detangle myself from his arms. "Stop it."

He puts his head in the crook of my shoulder and my head, breathing deeply. "You don't know how long I've loved you," he whispers huskily, his voice filled to the brim with longing, honesty, and fervor.

I bite my lip, shoving away from him. My body protests from the removal of his delicious heat, but my mind purrs happily. I hate him, I remind my rebellious body. Don't you remember when Henry died?

"I-I can't…John, I don't want to make it seem like…" He watches me intently, awaiting my next words. I don't think even I'M heartless enough to deliver them, but it turns out that I'm bitchier than I thought. "I don't want to make it seem like I'm in love with you, too."

Ouch, is written all over his face. Oh my fucking ouch. Before he can say anything, I rush towards the door, pulling it open and stepping into the freezing night. I take off at a run, getting to the end of the block before I fall to my knees in despair.

Some girls have it all; they're well-off, they have a family that loves them, they're amazingly beautiful, girls just want to be them. Sometimes they have a boy that loves them. I, however, do NOT have it all. Instead, God gave me TWO boys that love me. And, being the cold-hearted bitch that I am, I broke both of their hearts.

But in my defense, one WAS gay.

**AN: Damn. Uhh…soooo…Happy Holidays everyone. I'm gonna be taking a short hiatus on this story until after the holidays are over, so I'll leave you guys to digest this. Oh, and just so you all know, I didn't have Cara reject John because I hate him. I had her do it because…well, she JUST broke up with her newly found gay boyfriend, and if she fell immediately in love with John, it would be BEYOND unrealistic. And I need to cling to the little bit of realism that I portray in this story, because God knows it's fake as hell. Haha, so leave a review telling me what you thought, and I'll be back…I have no fucking idea. I'll just say I'll be back when I have the slightest clue what's gonna happen next. So…buh bye!**


	26. Full ride, bitchezzzz

**AN: Okay, here's the thing. I still have absolutely no idea what to write. Buuuuuut it's my last day of winter break, and other than chores I have nothing better to do. I figured I owed it to you all to update. It's funny…sometimes I update literally the next day, and sometimes I just don't know what to say next for like two weeks. But if you guys want the REASON that I don't know what to write, it's this: I don't know how I'm going to end the story. Actually, I have a rough guesstamite. And honestly guys? It's gonna be soon. Really soon. This story has been fucking great, but I have to move on, sadly enough. That's all heavy and stuff, and I'm gonna throw a heavy chapter at you all. Sooooo enjoy, please. :^) And there's a George, because I feel like it.**

"CARA!"

I wince, burying my head in my pillow and trying to ignore the harsh call of my mother's voice. It's one of those voices that come to you in the deep, dark corners of nightmares, the voice you dread to hear because you KNOW it's only gonna be bad news.

"CARA MARIE FALLON! GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE!"

I narrow my eyes. She means business, as only the middle name-tactic could insinuate. I stand up from my bed, straightening the pale yellow dress that adorns my pale body. Outside, the traitor sun shines brightly, melting away the cold and bitterness that had surrounded the house just weeks previously.

In my opinion, the spring is the worst season. I don't see it as a beautiful change, a new chance for life. I see it as one huge lie, stuck in between winter and summer, trying to decide what it likes best. It's God damn tiring. It was only April, yet the spring had already been cruel to me.

Example one: It had torn me and John apart. Okay, maybe the spring itself hadn't played a part in it at all, but still. It was this whole air of change and new chances and all that shit that had fueled that kiss. That stupid, motherfucking kiss that made us part ways.

Example two: My senior project was due in three weeks, exactly two weeks before school ended for good for me, and I wasn't on speaking terms with my partner. That was great, wasn't it? I couldn't WAIT to tell the teacher that the reason I couldn't finish the project was because I had found out that my boyfriend was gay, then proceeded to make out with the guy that everyone in school KNEW was pretty much a man-whore. And the man-whore said he loved me.

Juuuuuust great.

"Cara? Are you listening to me?"

I'm broken out of my thoughts, blinking a couple times at my mother. It seems that I've wandered down to the kitchen, sitting across the table from her. For the first time in the history of the Fallon household, it seems as though all the kids have been pushed out the dining room. The entire first floor is eerily silent. Do they know something I don't?

"Y-Yes," I say, my voice cracking from lack of use.

My mom nods solemnly, biting her bottom lip. "I got the letter. From that school in the States?"

"Columbia," I confirm. My dream, the biggest wish I've had since I gave up on resurrecting my brother from the dead. It's where I've always wanted to go.

"Aye, that place." She takes a deep breath. "I know how happy you were when you got in, I know that. And I telephoned about the scholarship, I tried all that I could."

My heart completely stops. Shit. "And…the letter?" I ask weakly.

She looks down slowly, the official looking envelope stuffed fat with information. Whether it was good or bad, I do not know. "Well…why don't you take a look yourself?"

I pull it towards me, avoiding my mother's eyes. I don't want to see her expression, it would give too much away. Yet I still wondered…was she disappointed? Concerned? Crushed for me? Or was she happy that I would be staying in fucking Liverpool, the place that was completely crushing me? None of my siblings ever left, none of them had so much as attempted college.

"Dear Ms. Cara Fallon," I read out loud, my voice coming out whispery and not at its normal booming quality. "We have reviewed your scholarship information, and we have wholeheartedly decided that…"

I stop, not able to choke out the next word of the letter. I look up at my mother. "Full ride?" I croak. "I'm going?" A tear of happiness leaks from the corner of my eye, and all at once I'm laughing and crying and hugging my mother. My siblings seep out from different rooms, and then there we are. One big, happy family.

I got in. I'm going. My dream is coming true.

And then there's Shannon, smiling wide, a tears of pride leaking down her face. Her makeup is smeared, but for once, she doesn't care. Keegan's arms are wrapped so tight around me, his chin resting on top of my head. Since when does he care about me? Jack is comforting my mother, who seems beside herself. One of her precious babies? Leaving the nest? All the way to fucking America? It's unheard of for her.

And yet…

A thought lingers on my mind. A tall thought, with broad shoulders and dark, beady eyes. A thought that likes to compose poetry and draw beautiful pictures. A thought that's always bitter and sarcastic, but really has a soft side. A thought called John.

Could I leave him?

…

I haven't seen you in weeks,

But I know you see me.

I told you I loved you…

How much more blunt could I be?

**AN: John be writing his poetry again. :^) He's totally got his notebook back. Now. What do you guys wanna see happen next? Tell me in a…oh, I don't know…REVIEW?**


	27. Bye bye, Banana King

**AN: I honestly didn't realize it'd been so long since I updated, but it fo shiz has. Like, seriously, I'm becoming disgusted with myself. But, no matter, I am updating now. And while I am updating the story, I think I shall update you all about what is going on in my life. First and foremost, I've become a Doctor Who fanatic. Yes, I've jumped on the bandwagon. It has literally changed my life. Doctor Who. OhmyGod. Now that that's over, have a little read, won't you? (I'm even starting to THINK British-ly!)**

While it HAD been a long time since I talked to John last, it had been an even longer time since I had talked to Liam. And that, my friends, was for good reason. Not only had Liam stayed resolutely in the closet (even though at least my group of friends knew the truth about him), but he had built himself up once again. Next thing I knew, he was probably going to have us all calling him King Liam. But, hell, he'd always be the Banana King to me.

Anyways.

I decided one day in our art class that enough was enough. It was time to move on and be the bigger person.

"Liam," I say, the word sounding strange in my mouth. Even though we haven't exactly spoken in the past couple weeks, he still sits next to me. Mr. Bartelson won't let him move, I suppose. Or maybe he's still clinging to that last bit of hope. That last bit of hope that keeps him to flirting with Bianca Horshe.

He turns slowly, as though he's forgotten who I am. He looks as me strangely. "What?"

I blink once, twice, having completely forgotten what I was about to say. It's a rather embarrassing thing—you know, to have gotten someone's attention and then have absolutely nothing to say. It comes off rather horribly. Myself, I had always hated it when people did that. And now look! I was one of them.

"Come crawling back to me, then?" he asks, his body completely turning so that his attention was focused on me, and only me. Two months ago, this would have made my heart sing. Today, it just made me sick. "Suppose Lennon isn't as good as he's made out to be, is he?"

I swallow, forcing myself to come back to the art class, to look Liam in the eye. "I just wanted to talk to you. Not about John, not about anything that happened."

Liam cocks his head. "So you two AREN'T together?"

"It doesn't matter too terribly much…but no." I push aside the look of triumph on his features. "I told you before; I never liked him that way. I hate him." But even to my own ears, the words were not as heartfelt as they used to be. They were forced, too rough, and I knew without a doubt that they had turned into a lie.

Liam nods slowly. "Yeah…I believe that just about as much as you do." He shrugs, as though it doesn't mean anything to him anymore. "Besides, I've read that journal thing of his. I know HIS opinion on this matter. It's kind of sick, his determination is."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"How," Liam mused, "can you love someone THAT much, when all they've ever done is hate you?"

For reasons beyond my fathoming, this has devastating effects to my heart. It's one thing if I say that I hate John, it's quite another if someone else says it. I want to reach out and slap Liam, but instead I turn away.

To be honest, I never quite finished reading his poems and songs, so I never quite got the whole picture of it. Oh, I got the most important part; that they were all for me. But maybe I should have looked deeper, maybe I could have seen the boy that John was always trying to get me to see. Had Liam seen him?

"Shut up," I mutter, forcing my gaze straight ahead.

But Liam is persistent, smirking at the side of my head blatantly. This annoys the hell out of me to the point that I whip around, facing him once more, and allow my face to show my displease.

"You don't know him," I hiss, shaking my head furiously. "You don't know him, you stupid son of a bitch."

He flinches, but his face resumes normal composure in an instant. "Well, you don't know him either."

For the first time in so long, my eyes find the boy that sits in the front row, diligently working on something that I should be doing with him. As if he can feel my gaze, his back suddenly stiffens, and he crumbles up the piece of paper with his drawing on it.

And then Liam's lips are at my ear. "Why not give us another go, eh? You can forget about him—really, what is he to you?—and we can be together again. Everyone always said we were a lovely couple."

I tear my gaze away from John, forcing myself to look at Liam. "What, and be your cover? No thank you."

He shrugs. "Could be beneficial to both of us."

"That's not a relationship…that's a business deal!" I snort, looking away from him like he's insane. Which he probably is, now that I think of it. He does some pretty wacked up shit.

He sits back in his seat, arms crossed. "Think about it."

All those annoyances that I've had with him, all the little things at home that irritate me, and all the strange, new feelings that I have for John well up inside of me, clumping together in my throat. All of a sudden, everything seems so damn unfair. Not for me, and certainly not for Liam. But for someone whose feelings I've never really considered. And before I can stop it, that lump is spewing out of my mouth—in the form of words.

"No, Liam," I spit, "I will NOT think about it. As a matter of fact, I'm never going to think of anything that has to do with you ever, ever again." The bell rings, and the entire class gathers their things. Liam and I stay put. "You wanna know why? Because I said I wouldn't before, and I meant it. You, you're nothing but a scared little boy who thinks he can hide behind people and let the world pass him by without facing the consequences. Newsflash! That's no way to live."

His eyes bug out a bit, and I push a spare art book towards him in anger. "You're so…you're so STUPID! You think I'll just come crawling back to you because I don't understand what's going on with John?" My voice rises, and I hardly consider the fact that there might be other people in the room. "Well, I have something you lack; and that's loyalty. I'm not just gonna go running off with you because I don't know what's going on with him, because you look good and different and I think that things will be easier and smoother this way. I'm not like that."

I stand up, backing away from him. He doesn't move. "I'm not like that," I repeat quietly. Then, as if to confirm my dramatic exit, I spin around.

BAM!

I knock right into the guy, sending us both careening into the hallway. I catch my footing, then look up to mumble a quick apology. My breath catches.

John, God help him, watches me as I stumble backwards into the sea of students. I don't know what to say—what IS there to say? So I take the easy route and shut my mouth. The next time I look, he's gone. Swallowed into the sea.

Hell of a day.

…

Maybe you don't understand,

Maybe I wasn't quite clear.

I am, in fact, human,

With two ears, good to hear.

**AN: Oooooooookay. So. I tried to put John in there a little bit, because this John-story has been lacking on the whole John front for a while. :^) That's it for a bit (rhyme), I guess, because I honestly don't know what to say after this. However, I will be updating quicker than nine days, that I promise you. So, why don't you tell me what you think? I'd love to hear what you have to say. REVIEW!**


	28. So she likes him now?

**AN: It's been…well, yeah, it's been a long ass time. And for that I am sorry. Inspiration just hasn't struck me. Isn't that horrible? I find that at the end of all the stories I write, my love for the plot begins to fade. I just read the last chapter I wrote, and I realized that one, I said in the ending AN that I would update faster than nine days (FAIL) and two, that it has been nearly month since I've updated. What the fuck? I honestly don't know where my head has been (jk, I do, but I'm not gonna get into that HERE) but now I will stop rambling and present you with THIS:**

I had to talk to him.

This could be taken both literally and figuratively, seeing as I DID need to talk to him in order to finish our project. But also…I dunno. He just seemed to have this magnetic pull on me, and ever since that day I crashed into him in the hall, I've had this feeling that we needed to talk. For closure, I guess.

"John," I say, coming up behind him after school one day. He's wandering down the front steps of our school, his sights set on another girl and his hand slipped into his pocket. Probably reaching for a cigarette.

Yup. There it goes. He turns around, pulls out the cancer stick, and pops it into his mouth. With one swift motion, it's lit and smoking. "What?" he asks, not meeting my eye. Actually, he barely even looks at me, only coldly appraising my feet.

I shrug, wishing I had a better reason of getting his attention. "I dunno…I just haven't talked to you in a while. What's been going on with you?"

Something in my words startles him, and it shows all over his face. But that brief flicker of emotion is quickly covered up, leaving his features blank and smooth. Instead of answering my question, he takes a drag of his ciggie and turns away from me.

"Wait!" I call, but he doesn't stop, still heading for the girl. Now that I can focus on her more clearly, I notice only one thing about her: that I've never seen her before. Just like all the girls John dates, she had always been invisible to me. That was probably because I never even considered being friends with people that I would upon first glance label 'whore'.

My thoughts stab at my heart, realizing that I had labeled John the same exact thing. And what were we? Friends? I hoped so.

Wait…whoa…I hoped so? Since when?

"John!" I shout out again, ignoring the death glare coming from the skank. I follow him down the steps and wait patiently for him to turn around.

"What?" he asks again, this time his voice thicker and louder. Annoyance. That's all that colors his face. My mind registers how different that was from the old him…how he would listen to my every word, tease me gently, rebuttal all of my comments.

"We need to work on our Senior Project," I answer, knowing the whole 'I miss you' thing wouldn't work.

"I know."

"So, my house? Tomorrow?"

He stares at me, long and hard. As if he's searching for something on my face. He must find whatever he was looking for, because he suddenly replies. "Of course."

Not okay, not sure. Not I guess. Of course. For some reason beyond me, this triggers a smile. It stretches across my face, enveloping my features in a happy glow. "Great," I chirp.

He smiles back, much more hesitantly, though. "I'll see you around, then." Without waiting for my response, he turns around and delves back into his previous conversation. As if our moment never existed.

The rest of the day, I walk around with a wide grin plastered on my face. I say thank you when my sister passes me the potatoes at dinner, and I even help Keegan with his homework. When I get into bed, I lay there for a few minutes, just smiling.

Finally, I think joyously, John is back. And with that thought, I roll over and go to sleep, not even considering the fact that I could ever have hated him.

...

I've been in love before,

And I've found that it was more...

Than just holding hands.

**AN: Shut up, I know it was horrible. Leave me alone.**


	29. Every Little Detail

**AN: I have an excuse, I swear I do. I just started water polo, AKA the hardest sport I have ever attempted to play in my entire life, and I've been a little tired. Sorry, fuck that, I've been constantly exhausted every minute of every day. School days I just try and make it through, weekends I hang out with my friends and try not to pass out on them. So, I'm sorry. I haven't been writing ANYTHING, not just avoiding this, if it makes you feel any better. I probably lost every single one of my readers in this expanse of time, but maybe I'll make it a little better and just shut the fuck up so you guys can read? Yeah, sounds good.**

Today. John is coming today. It's all I can think about as I rise, shower, eat, get dressed. I flutter about the house, straightening and re-ordering and getting in my mother's way, not sure if I should relax or if I'm right to be on such edge. I never felt this way with John before. It's a strange turn of events, no doubt.

Am I nervous?

The thought makes me laugh. John Lennon, make me nervous? No fucking way. He's the one that likes ME mores than I like HIM, right? He's the one that's going to be nervous. Unless… Unless he's found another girl.

Duh, he's John Lennon, of course he's found another girl.

But what if his feelings have changed for me? What if he's just sick and tired of my drama and the only reason he agreed to coming over really WAS to work on the Senior Project? What if I've changed John and he actually DOES care about his grades now?

My constant-fire thoughts drown my brain, and I choke on my own laughter. The doorbell rings. My father rises to let John in. I try not to hyperventilate.

"Hey."

There he is, standing before me. From my vantage point, he looms tall and thin, with that shock of hair on his head perfectly flopping in his eyes. My breath catches in my throat. I'm fucking pathetic, I realize with a pang. Since when did he gain the upper hand? What's happened to me?

"H-h-hi." I stutter, then promptly turn scarlet. My own mind throws insulting words at my intelligence level.

However much my speech impediments embarrass me, they only seem to delight John. He smiles, this time not holding back and unleashing the full power of his grin. I blink several times, stricken by him. What's going on with me?

He sits down in my dad's usual chair, acting as though he's done this millions of times. He pulls out several drawings that I've never seen before, which automatically make me feel guilty seeing as I have put absolutely zero thought into our Senior Project. Ever since I got into my school of choice in America, I've been way more lenient about my academics.

I realize then that I should tell John about my college now. I don't know what it is, but something tells me not to. To wait. That now is not the right time.

As he sketches and I try to calm myself the fuck down, we make idle chit chat. It isn't nearly as satisfying as our old banter, and I feel like I'm hardly saying anything at all, but John doesn't look uncomfortable. If anything, he looks distinctly pleased with himself.

"Cara," he says suddenly, interrupting a long, winding story I was trying to tell about my brother Keegan and his daily antics.

I ignore the way my heart leaps when he says my name. That's definitely not normal. "Huh?"

"Do you remember—" He stops himself, chuckling under his breath and staring down at his lead stained hands. "Never mind."

"No, go ahead," I insist.

"It's nothing."

"Seriously, now you have to tell me."

"It's not important."

"John; tell me."

Apparently this is more forceful than it needs to be, because he looks up with a certain value of amusement on his hard features. He lets out a breath I wasn't aware he was holding, then reclines in the overstuffed armchair he's seated in. He sighs contentedly.

"Fine. Do you remember the day that Julia…that you came over to my house? And you were in my room?"

I nod slowly, not completely sure why he's bringing it up. I just remember holding him tight, feeling invisible tears seep into my hair, and trying to forget all the things he'd done in the past to hurt me. It crushed my heart to see him like that, and even recalling memories of it make me sad.

"You hated me," he comments blandly, tonelessly, as if he's stating mere fact.

I bite my lip, hesitating. I wasn't exactly subtle with my feelings back in the day. "Yeah…"

"But you hugged me," he says, using that same tone. Suddenly, he leans forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees, his head in his palms. His beady, nearly black eyes focus in on me, and I'm locked in their intensity.

"I felt bad," I say with as much strength as I can.

"You hated me, yet you still felt the need to comfort me. As though all the things that I did to you were nothing."

I don't say anything; what can I say? He pretty much hit the nail on the head, guessing my feelings with pinpoint accuracy. It was almost as though he'd spent a long time analyzing my actions, my feelings, my thoughts. Why did he care so much?

"You had this look in your eyes…I don't know. I sound like a fucking idiot trying to explain it. But I saw that same look the day you talked to Liam after class and then bumped into me, and yesterday, too. You looked…like something had changed. Like maybe there was a chance that you might not hate me anymore."

I try to lick my lips, but I seem to have lost all moisture on my tongue. Could something have changed without me even realizing it? No, probably not. There was a better chance that I had just misunderstood my own feelings in the first place.

"What do you want me to say?" I ask weakly, cringing at the feeble sound of my own voice.

"I want you to answer a question for me…something that's been bothering me a lot lately: When did you stop hating me, Cara?"

In that moment, I see everything about him. The gentle way his eyelashes, such a deep black, curve and frame his eyes. The long, straight slope of his nose. His lips, thin and trembling, and such a delicate, natural shade of pink. I take in those dark eyes that seem to hide so much pain, yet seem to express so much feeling. I see the courage that it took for him to come here, the heart that beats inside his chest, just barely keeping from tearing at the seams. Seams that I created. More than anything, I finally put him together, finally figure him out. My heart swells in a great crescendo, my skin tingles, my eyes open wide.

"Around the time I realized that I loved you, too."

**AN: Okay. For some reason, I just feel like that was hella good. I know how horrible that sounds, but I never really like my own work. Maybe it's because I took that break on this story…I dunno, but it just felt damn good writing this. And I know it's a little longer than normal, but I don't think you guys mind that. It's ME who minds that :^). Annnyways, in case you guys wanted a little soundtrack to read this chapter to (I know it's a little late, but yeah) the song that was playing in my head the entire time I wrote this was that one duet from the movie Once. It's the one where the guy with the sorta raspy voice sings and the girl does harmony…I don't know what it's called, sorry. But if you guys want to try and look it up, that's what this chapter is set to in my mind. OH WAIT! I think it's like Falling Slowly or something like that. Okay, I'm done rambling. Goodbye.**

**P.S. The way I have it planned out in my head, there will be…three more chapters left. No epilogue or anything like that. And no sequel. It's just not a sequel kind of ending, it's very solid. And after that? I'll be posting the first chapter to the sequel to Any Time At All. If you never READ Any Time At All, this means nothing to you. Goodbye again. **


	30. And He Loved Her but it wasn't enough

**AN: I couldn't resist. I honestly couldn't. I'm going through a phase right now, and it includes fanfiction writing so you all are in luck. Also, I just wanted to say something: when I end a story (I say this like I've done it so many times…ha), I like to look back at the beginning, at the first reviews, and remember how excited and hopeful and just genuinely happy I was to be getting all of that attention on my writing. And then I came across a review that I remember getting fucking PISSED about, the one from GeorgeIsMyFriend (by the way, George isn't your friend, he's my friend, so you can suck it), and I read it again, and I started thinking. In life, you're always gonna have haters, and I got so absolutely upset about finding out I have one…I dunno. GeorgeIsMyFriend, if you still read my story (you probably don't, seeing as you called me and my character a bitch and that generally implies that you don't read the story any more) I just wanted to say thank you for making me realize that there are bigger things than small, insignificant people like you; there are greater things than caring about what people who don't know you think about you; and most of all, I want to say that you can go to hell. **

**And that is called getting over it. **

The next few weeks were the happiest in my life. Carefree, romantic, easy. And for the first time in a long time, I was content to be myself, if only I could be myself by the side of someone that I loved.

"Favorite food?" John asks me, playing our Favorite Game again.

"Potatoes."

"You would."

I laugh, pushing him playfully. "I can guess yours: chocolate pudding."

He shakes his head, a deep frown of disappointment on his face. "Nah, it's coffee."

"You can't EAT coffee therefore it's not food."

"It is the way I use it."

I furrow my brow. "That doesn't even make sense, John."

"Fuck you, yes it does."

I roll my eyes, moving closer to him so that my crossed knees bump into his crossed knees. We're sitting under a shady oak tree, the sun at my back and a light breeze playing in my hair. "Favorite…tree."

He raises his eyebrows, clearly saying 'what the fuck?' without words. "I don't know how to fucking answer that. You go first."

"I like cherry trees," I respond immediately, smiling gently. "My mum always kept one in our backyard, and it smelled wonderful. The blossoms were this creamy pink color…I dunno, they just always remind me of my childhood." Of my brother, I don't say.

He considers this, revolving an apple that he plucked on the way here slowly in his long, nimble fingers. I watch those hands, hypnotized, until finally he clears his throat and my eyes dart back up to his. "Weeping willows."

"Why?"

I notice that his eyes don't quite meet mine, instead drifting downwards. He takes a bite of his apple, munching thoughtfully on his mouthful. When he speaks, his tone is hushed, not the usual bravado he usually speaks in. "Because they always look like they're crying."

Naturally, my heart breaks in two and I want to launch myself at him, to hold him and tell him I'm sorry for everything that's ever happened in his life. But I can't do that, because he would push me away.

As though reading my thoughts, he suddenly stands, dropping the apple to the ground with a dull thump. I also stand hesitantly, a worried frown adorning my face. "What's wrong…?"

He shakes his head quickly. "Nothing, nothing. I've just remembered that I left my dog out."

Liar.

He turns around to leave, to run away from me and the sturdiness that I provide for him. It's almost that he wants his life to be chaos, and as soon as someone gets too close to him, he needs to escape. Like he's suffocating. I knew this about John, I really did. But I thought that maybe, this time, it might be different. Because he said he loved me.

"You don't have a dog!" I call frustratedly, my arms floating out at my sides then coming to my hips with a slap.

Almost as if he never left, he's suddenly at my side again. He pushes me up against a tree, the very tree we were sitting under earlier. His hands hold my waist steady, his eyes peering right into mine. My lips and his are mere inches away, and I can feel the cocky, smug grin though I can't see it.

"And that's why you're my girl."

When he kisses me, I taste the fruity tang of an apple, the smoky cling of cigarettes, and, of course, the bitter taste of coffee. The mixture is addicting, and I find myself struggling to hold back, to remember that I'm sort of angry with him.

When he pulls away, I remain there, transfixed. His taste stays in my mouth, cool, indifferent, uncaring. My eyes stay tightly closed, afraid that if I open them I'll see all the things I fear when I'm with John. I'm also afraid that when I open them, he'll be gone. Of course he's gone, but the longer I keep them closed, the longer I can pretend that he's still there, his arms around me, calling me his girl.

"You're such a loser," I whisper under my breath.

…

I don't see John for a day or two after that, nothing uncommonly long. However, I do learn that he was spotted with Janice Miller, an old flame of his. And you know what? I'm not even surprised.

…

I don't know how to say,

What I really want to.

Though I'm sure you hear me anyways,

Because I really do love you.

**AN: Interpret this as you may. I tried to say a lot without really saying a lot (because you know how I like to keep these chapters short) so if you don't get it, PM me and I'll explain. Also, PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! There are only two more chapters left, and I know what will happen in both, but I'd really like to know what I could improve upon. **


	31. When Things Fell Apart

**AN: Hi. I'm sitting on my bed (where I have been the entire day, since I woke up) dreading writing this, dreading having to get dressed, dreading having to play water polo for four hours…you know, the usual. SO I thought I'd at least brave some part of my day, and I chose to give you guys another installment of stupid shit that you don't care about. Sound good? Alright, read on.**

If there was one thing I knew more than anything else at that point in my life, it was that I needed some closure with John. I needed to tell him about my college, and not give him false assumptions. As horrible as it sounded, I didn't want us to be so in love that the thought of separation was unbearable. Call me vain, call me a bitch, call in self-centered, whatever you like, but I would never give up dreams that I'd had since I was a small child for a boy who I was sure was never going to treat me as well as others, despite how much we loved each other. He was too broken for that sort of thing.

I chose the day we finished our Senior Project to tell him. It was due the next day, and we were putting the finishing touches on it, making it look A worthy. John was quiet, maybe a little bit tense, shading and scribbling and drawing away. Things had been a little tense since that day under the oak tree, and the rumor of his now frequent meetings with Janice Miller were still on my mind. I wanted to dismiss them as pure jealous myth, but because of John's track record I couldn't.

"John," I say softly, kneeling behind him, resting my chin on his shoulder, and running my hand the length of his back. He doesn't respond to my touch.

"Hmm?"

I wrap my arms around him now, so he knows that I'm not angry with him. That I only want to know the truth, and that I'll believe whatever he says. My forehead sinks right under his neck, and his back arches slightly from the pressure. "I need to ask you something."

He doesn't respond immediately, and while he considers his answer I take in his smell. Listen to his heartbeat. Try to remember ever small, insignificant detail about him that I can. I leave for America in two weeks, and I won't even be able to spend the summer with him.

"Okay," he says after a long, long time. In his voice, I hear slight inflexions of some emotion that I can't quite place in my mind.

I hesitate, but only for a moment. "I heard some…things. And before I believed them, I wanted to ask you if they were true."

This must seem fairly reasonable to him, for he simply nods and keeps his wrist moving.

"Have you been…" I don't exactly know how to say this, because I don't want to sound accusing. After a moment of deliberation, I decided to just get it out there, right in the open. "Everyone says that you're seeing Janice Miller on the side."

His hand stops and his body completely tenses up. "Who the fuck said that?"

"Everyone," I breathe, because based on his defensive question I know it to be true. "I didn't want to believe it, but…"

"But I've cheated in the past, so that certainly means that I'm gonna do it to you, too. Right? That's what you were thinking?"

His words are harsh, bitter, hard. I let go of his body, standing up quickly and taking a few short steps away. He stands up, too, our finished project sitting on the coffee table behind him. His expression is blank, unreadable, but I can tell from the way he stands that he's seething.

"No, I wanted to ask you myself before I—"

"Just shut up, Cara. Shut the fuck up. I'm sick and tired of judgmental, stuck-up little bitches like you deciding you know exactly who I am, when really you don't know me at all." His eyes are on fire, his entire body quivering with rage. And honestly? I'm scared shitless.

"Please, please stop. I DO know you, I know a lot about you, in fact. Why are you acting like this?"

His mouth forms a hard line of disgust, and he looks away from me. "You brought it up," he mumbles, loud enough for me to hear.

This strikes a bit of anger in me, too, and suddenly I'm not so scared anymore; I'm hardcore pissed off. "I'm sorry that it makes me a little mad that you're fucking some other girl when we're supposed to be a couple. When you told me that you loved me. You have NO RIGHT to blow up on me, and you know that."

"Well maybe I don't love you anymore."

Those words echo over and over again in my head, making me blink several times. I frown, positive that I heard him incorrectly. "You don't mean that," I say, almost inaudibly. It's not true, I know it. He's just saying it because he thinks it'll hurt me, when in the long run it will only hurt him. When will he learn?

He stares at me a long time, not saying anything. His eyes survey my face, probably wondering why I'm not crying. I refuse to cry for him, because right now he doesn't deserve it.

"I've only slept with her a few times," he admits, clearly and unabashedly. "I feel guilty, of course I do. I AM human. But I keep telling myself…maybe the reason that I still can look at other girls, do things with other girls, is because I don't feel the same for you." He raises his eyebrows, as if looking for me to confirm that.

"No," I say, shaking my head slowly. I suddenly remember something I've been forgetting for the past month or two; I hated him. I saw him for what he really was: a scared little boy, hiding behind the rough exterior of a guy that couldn't care less. And now, looking at him like I am, I can see what I always used to see. And the funny part is that I still love him, but I know that it will never work out. Because he still needs to realize who he is, and I cannot keeping tell him. "The reason that you feel the need to cheat on me is that you cannot get close to me—not just me, but anybody—without running away, without hiding. Because you cannot love someone else if you do not love yourself."

My words hit him hard, I can tell. He blinks several times, the anger in his body seeming to melt into something a little bit more soft. He lets his head fall into his hands, his shoulders slouch, his knees buckle a bit. And all I can do is stand there and watch, refusing to get close to him again. When he picks up his head, his face is very white and his eyes are very red.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. We can work it out though, right?" He steps forward, taking one of my hands in his and staring up into my eyes hopefully. His auburn waves are all askew, and my heart melts for him.

I shake my head slowly, gently pulling my hand away from his. "No, John. I'm leaving for America after school ends, and I dunno if I'm coming back."

The blank look returns to his face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I close my eyes, completely exasperated but knowing that his question is valid. I should have told him. I should have told him a long time ago, as soon as I found out. "Would it have mattered?"

Time seems to freeze for me, and I'm completely lost in my thoughts. John says something else, but I don't seem to hear him. He moves to the door, probably giving up on me. Then something jerks me out of my own head.

"I love you, Cara. Always did, always will." He smiles, a little bit too soft to be natural, but heartwarming all the same.

I laugh, looking down at my feet. "See you tomorrow, at school?"

"That's not gonna be awkward at all."

"Might as well go sit next to Liam again."

"Nah, he sits next to Tyler Holmes now." We exchange a glance. "Yes, THAT Tyler Holmes."

Oh, Liam. "Well, goodbye then, John."

"Bye, Cara."

…

That's the last time I ever talk to John Lennon. I see him in the halls that last week of school, of course. Always with a different girl. He never talks to me in our art class, choosing instead to make out with Bianca in the back every day. I turn in our Senior Project the next day, the featured pieces being a crying banana, a punctured heart, and two intertwined male symbols.

I leave for America that June. I don't even say goodbye.

**AN: OKAY YES I KNOW THAT ENDING SUCKED BUT I'M SORRY! There will be one more chapter after this, and everything will be tied together. Don't even worry about it, guys. REVIEWW!**


	32. Tomorrow I'll Miss You

**AN: Well, hi. For the last time, I guess. So this is officially the SECOND story I have ever finished. Crazy stuff, right? And while we're on that subject, the prequel-sort of sequel (that's what I'm calling it now) to Any Time at All will come out sometime this upcoming week. So there's that for me. And for you guys, if you've read that story. What else did I have to say…oh! I was thinking about how this story was written throughout the course of my entire freshman year. Isn't that funny? I started it one of the last HOT days in the fall, and I ended it the first HOT day this spring (it was 83 degrees over here in Chicago today). As per usual, I won't have an ending comment, because I want you to get the last words. They've been carefully planned since Day 1. **

**Before you guys read, I just want to say thank you. For putting up with my constant hating on John, for dealing with my more neurotic moments, for still following this story even through the rather long breaks I took between chapters in the end. Your reviews have literally made my days at various points, and that means the world to me (and the people who have to deal with me daily, trust me). And on that note…here is the last chapter of I'm A Loser.**

For me, goodbyes have never been easy.

I think that all stems back to my brother, Henry. I was in first grade, just seven years old, and the details of that week are sharper than any other memory I have. Henry was a year older than me. He was brave, protective, and the kind of funny that the adults just eat up. He loved me more than anything, I realize that now more than I did then. Me and Henry, we never fought. We hung out like we were best friends. When I got things and he didn't, he never complained, and when I forced myself upon his little group of friends, he never said a word. My mother always said that Henry was taken from us because he was too perfect, too good for the world. She said that he already had life figured out, so God chose to end his life, knowing it was more fulfilled than anyone else's. In a few years, my mother would lose that tremendous faith, instead blaming God on her more drunken nights.

Henry's one weakness was his allergies. As much as we knew he could handle himself, everyone always had to work hard to keep him from wandering too far from the house. We didn't want to lose our little, precious gift, and in the end it was out of our hands. The beehive that roosted just under our front porch wasn't visible to people above five feet, and none of us kids wanted to go near it. Henry was always the brave one. Always adventurous. Always naïve about the things he could and couldn't do.

I never got to say goodbye to him. I was upstairs, recovering from a tantrum and having just turned down Henry's offers to go outside and play. It was then that I heard the screams, the blare of the ambulance, my mother's muffled sobs. And before I could register it, he was gone. Later that week, at the wake, I looked down on his face and I saw the same old features that I always saw: short, curly black hair; pert little nose; scarlet lips; ears that stuck out a little too far. I didn't say anything, my entire day weighing down upon me as I stared at him. All I could think about was how lifeless he looked. I couldn't think of what to say, so I turned and ran out of that place, crying my eyes out.

It only registered to me later that the perfect thing to say would have been goodbye. The one thing I could never say.

So, when I left for America, I couldn't face John. I didn't know what to say to him, other than what I already had. I was confident that I still loved him, wary on the fact that I might never love another more. But I knew that he couldn't feel for me how I might eventually feel for him, so I didn't try and change him again.

Happy endings are, in my mind, perfect fantasy. They just don't exist. All I could hope for in those first few withering months abroad was that he wouldn't forget me, or how he once felt for me. That maybe he would make beautiful, heartbreaking songs about the girl that played with his heart so badly. And, like most times, John didn't fail to surprise me.

I remember exactly where I was when I heard The Beatles playing for the first time. They appeared on one of my favorite shows at the time—Ed Sullivan—and my jaw literally dropped when I saw their lead singer. He looked taller, his frame more filled out. His hair was longer, straighter, and from the black and white of the television I couldn't see the auburn I so vividly remembered. Nor could I smell that scent that I still held in the back of my memories. But there he was, smiling and singing and strumming and doing what he loved, just like he'd always dreamed.

From that day on, I became an avid follower of those four lads from Liverpool. As screaming fangirls threw themselves upon them, I laughed and remembered the dirty looks John and his strange-eyed friend Paul got from girls at school. As they grew older, more mature, experimenting with drugs and all that peace and love shit, I remembered John slapping my friend, the way she fell to the ground, the cold look in his eyes. And when John met Yoko Ono, saying that this love was the only true one he had ever come upon, my heart broke in two. Not because I was still hung up on him—by then, I was married and a mother—but because I remembered his book of poems, all professing his undying passion for me. Passion that, apparently, died.

Now, I'm an old woman. I'm not that girl I used to be, falling in love with dim-witted, blue-eyed, soon-to-be-gay jocks. I have grandchildren, a big house with a fenced in yard where my family often joins me, and my last name is not Lennon, as I once foolishly thought it would be. My days are spent in my living room with my husband, sitting before the TV and trying to find something too modern on it. Or in the kitchen, finding new ways to fix potatoes for my ever hungry grandchildren. Sometimes I even venture out into the world, marveling at how fast everything changes.

But the real place I find solace is next to my fireplace, looking up the only A+ project I would ever get in an Art class, three framed, slightly yellowed charcoal drawings, imperfect yet quite a talking point whenever someone enters my house. On each paper, right in the lower right hand corner, is a name messily scrawled, familiar to what is basically every single person who knows me. And that's how I remember him, up there on my wall, no shame at all. And yeah, I do think about him, as everyone always thinks about their first love. It would be impossible to forget him.

And through it all, I believe that he has finally let go of those demons that silently tore us apart, whether he realized it at the time or not. He seemed to die a happy man, although when I heard about it I holed myself up in my bathroom for a week and scared my children to death. And when I go to sleep at night now, I always say a little something to him, purely for our amusement. Normally it's a comment on how I still refuse to eat bananas or anything that contains them, how the smell makes me sick. I like to think he listens to me, even awaits our nightly banter, even if it is strictly one-sided. It may be crazy, irrational, even a little sad. And yeah, I know…

I'm a loser.

…

Of all the love I have won or have lost,  
There is one love I should never have crossed.  
She was a girl in a million, my friend,  
I should have known she would win in the end.

And I will never forget the things she said to me,

I'm a loser, that I can see.


End file.
